Epistolary
by Mithrigil
Summary: e·pis·to·lar·y, adj. 1. Of or associated with letters or the writings of letters. 2. In the form of a letter: epistolary exchanges. 3. Carried on by or composed of letters: an epistolary friendship. [Mainly Suikoden III with references to all others.]
1. IS 493 to IS 500

**Epistolary**

**_half a millennium of correspondence in the world of Suikoden_**

_by Mithrigil Galtirglin_

_---_

-IS 491-

_From His Eminence the Bishop Sasarai I of the Holy Harmonian Empire_

_to Commander Futch Schvarzeleber of the Dragon Knights of Toran,_

It is with no small amount of joy and pride that We offer Our congratulations on your appointment to Commander of the Dragon Knights. We regret deeply Our inability to attend the ceremony of appointment and the funeral rites of your predecessor, but We are unfortunately entrenched too deeply in matters both Sacred and utterly Secular at the moment to make the necessary voyage.

We also offer our condolences you and to those others bereaved of your predecessor, who shall be chronicled within Harmonia as a wise ally and a valorous individual, and her story will no doubt inspire soldier and artisan alike in the coming age.

It is Our understanding that in light of her passing and your promotion, you have come into the Dragon Rune. To this We again offer both congratulations and condolences, as your life as you know it has sure ended for both better and worse. We offer Ourself as a voice of experience with regard to maintaining one's relationship with the Rune, in such fashion as We may make Ourself available to dispense counsel.

We pray for your health and that of your charges.

-

_to his eminence Sasarai I_

Thanks. On all counts. No, really--I'd hoped you would have made it to the funeral. Then again, you're at war now, and I can't expect you to drop that in favor of me. I mean, you've got one vast country to deal with. Here's assuming that's what you meant by "matters both sacred and secular", at any rate.

And you are correct in your understanding that I've got the Rune now. Thanks for the offer of help, I might actually take you up on it, if I can figure something out that you can actually help with. You've been dealing with it your whole life, though, so that's likely.

Seriously, thanks, and I really do understand about not being able to come out here. You're not the only one from the old army who couldn't make it thanks to the new war. Besides, if any of you had come I'd have been forced to impose a peace-bonding during your stays and I hate doing that. It actually makes setting a watch difficult.

Best of luck with your war, may the best side win in the end, and don't you get killed out there. And for that matter, don't kill our buddies on the other side.

_-Futch_

---

-IS 493-

_to his eminence Sasarai,_

Congratulations on your victory in the Grasslands. I'm sure Hugo led them well until the end, and I hope he at least gave you trouble. Knowing him, he probably did. That kid was a demon when we were working under him, and what with all the grooming his mother gave him he could only become a great commander.

That said, it relieved me to hear nothing about massive geographical destruction or pillars of flame that ate the clouds like cupcakes. When I learned of your victory I was relieved at first that Hugo's defeat had not brought about catastrophe. And then I realized that none of the other options were very good either.

Did he get away? Or do you have him? I won't like either answer, so don't be afraid to tell me the truth.

Also, just to confirm--it's Bazba, Dupa, and old Joe who didn't make it? I heard Joe faced you alone to buy time for Hugo, and I can't imagine you left him alive.

_-Futch_

-

_From His Eminence the Bishop Sasarai I of the Holy Harmonian Empire_

_to Commander Futch Schvarzeleber of the Dragon Knights of Toran,_

We appreciate your congratulations and understand your concern for our former brethren-in-arms. It is with a heavy heart that We confirm your allegations as to the passings of Lord Bazba, Chief Dupa, and Sergeant Jordi. With regard to the Sergeant, it is in fact as you claim to believe, and he lay down his life most nobly. In a way, We are glad to have had the encounter transpire as it did, since the duel provided Us with assurance that Our esteemed comrade met a worthy end with a focused heart. We cannot guarantee the same regarding Lord Bazba or Chief Dupa, but by all reports they died with like honor.

With attention to the matter of Chief Hugo, We are not at leisure to disclose what little knowledge We possess of his state and whereabouts. We are able, however, to assure you of the fact that he lived up to his legacy and did not falter in his fight, taking several of Our men down with him before the inevitable end. Chief Hugo, in fact, crippled Our loved and valiant second, Deacon Dios Eizal, in the chaos of the last grand melee. It is not expected that Our adjunct will walk again, if he wakes at all. As of today We do not suspect he shall.

You may rest with confidence that Our regime will not continue to initiate direct hostilities in the Grasslands, and We have faith that news of Chief Hugo will reach you in good time.

We pray for your continued prosperity and the good fortune of those you hold dear.

-

_to his eminence,_

Thanks for telling me what little you think you can about Hugo. And you're right, how Joe died makes it a little easier to tolerate. He was always ready to tank it on the front lines. I only hope his kids are taking it well, and I'm sure they'll grow up into fine warriors like their father. If the world needs warriors when they grow up, I mean. With Harmonia in control, the Grasslanders might be able to live peacefully. At least the Duck Clan, I mean. You'll have trouble with the Lizards.

I'm sorry to hear about Dios. I didn't get to know him so well at Budehuc, but he was competent and he cared about you, so he was probably a good person. If he does die, he'll be missed over here by a few. By the way, did you know that Edge came here to train for a few months? Not as a rider, he's too old now to start, but he wanted to learn some greatsword from me. He's grown up a lot since the war--I mean, he can actually lift that old chatterbox sword with one hand now--but he looks more or less the same. Just stronger, more confident. And the sword's still a smartass. I think it misses Viktor. But I taught Edge some of what Humphrey taught me and he actually left here a little better than he came in.

Anyway, I hope Dios makes a good recovery and can return to watching your back. You'll probably need to be on your guard for vengeful Grasslanders and some other competent people who cared about Hugo. No, I'm not sending anybody myself, but seriously, keep an eye out. And please, keep me posted about Hugo--if you don't, I'll suspect you're up to something.

_-Futch_

-

_From His Eminence the Bishop Sasarai I of the Holy Harmonian Empire_

_to Commander Futch Schvarzeleber of the Dragon Knights of Toran,_

It is with an unsettling mélange of relief and regret that We inform you of the passing of Our beloved adjunct Deacon Dios Eizal. He died quietly in the night, a small measure of hours before the arrival of your letter. His spirit is now at peace and he is free of the pain brought on by his experiences in this mortal coil. In light of your kind words We conveyed your respects to his family, and they in return convey the openness of their home to you and yours should you ever be present in Crystal Valley.

We are likewise pleased at your news of Edge and his continued indenture to the Star Dragon Sword. We find Ourself wondering what it means to be sought out as a teacher, and project our best wishes to you in all future endeavors of the kind. We feel that you will prove a responsible and wise mentor to all those who resign themselves to your tutelage.

We are unable to placate your yearning for news of Chief Hugo.

We also appreciate your warning as to the precarious position We now occupy and have taken steps to insure the continuation of Ourself and Our posterity. There have been several attempts on Our life in the last few days, and We have transferred Our base of operations to a stauncher fortification. We will not disclose the nature of this location and this messenger does not know of it, so an interrogation would be futile. Please treat Our courier with your reputed kindness.

In light of the recent advents in Our position, We think it best that this correspondence be postponed until such a time as Our safety, as well as yours, is not so compromised by the traffic of letters. We implore that you refrain from replying to this letter, and offer instead to initiate the renewed epistolary Ourself.

We pray for your continued prosperity and the good fortune of those you hold dear.

---

-IS 499-

_to his eminence,_

I'm assuming that when you said you'd resume this whole correspondence thing when it was safe, you weren't thinking that five years would pass. Or is it six? Anyway, I'm sure it's reasonably safe to send a letter now, so I am. You won't escape my irreverent tone of voice so easily!

The reason I was reminded to start up the writing again is that I'm not going to be able to make it to Lepant's funeral, and I knew you'd be there--are you overseeing it?--so I thought I'd at least update you on my end so you'd have something to tell the others. What others there still are, I mean.

Things have been generally stable over here. Edge came back again about a year ago, finally looking older, but he'd ditched the talking sword. He's still here, actually. He told me he ran into Vik and Flik, or more accurately that they ran into him and asked for the sword back. Something about walking suits of armor claiming to be creatures of the night. Anyway, Edge said he did the right thing and challenged Vik to a duel over the sword. Of course Vik accepted, because he's Vik and because he probably does need the sword. Edge gets kind of gushy from here on in about it, so long story short, our boy Edge gave old Vik a run for his money. (He gives me a lot of the credit, says that Vik commented on Edge fighting "like Humphrey".) But Vik's Vik, and he won in the end, took the sword back (much to the sword's chagrin, I'm sure), and rode off with Flik into the sunset. Or sunrise. That part of the story keeps changing.

Let's see, what else...Viki dropped in and dropped out. I managed to get that she'd gone back in time for a little bit, and coming from her I'll believe anything. I think that was three years ago, just before you finally came out of hiding.

Right about the time you went into hiding, Geddoe of all people came by. I had been thinking he was behind one of the attempts on your life, but I didn't mention it to him and he didn't say anything. He's still with the rest of his team--all of them--even after all these years. He of course looks the same. Joker was grey but could still fight, Ace had a gut that surprisingly didn't get in the way of his sai, and Queen didn't even seem to notice that she was over forty. Not a wrinkle on that woman, I swear...I mean, she definitely looks older, if you know what I mean, but she doesn't look like any woman over forty I know. As for that creepy guy--I finally found out his name was Jacques--he and that Karayan girl Aila seem to be together, but don't plan on settling down or anything. I'm not sure if they're married. I don't know how Karayans handle that and I don't think Jacques actually cares.

Geddoe and I didn't talk much while he was here--I think he was just passing through on his way to Kamaro, and he left after about a week. I did talk with Ace a bit, though, and got that they'd been up to some pretty crazy stuff over the last few years. Now that the whole team knows about Geddoe, and people outside the team have figured it out, the team's being chased around by everyone from your boys to greedy Islanders. They keep getting actual missions in Caleria, which I can only assume come from you, but they keep walking into traps along the way. They wouldn't tell me what was up in Kamaro.

Also, while you were in hiding, I survived the first attempt on my life. That was fun. One of my own, actually, figured he'd take the Rune by force. Bright ate him. And I put a ban on naming kids after him. I really like that idea, actually, as a punishment. It's lasting. It doesn't always work, and I don't think it would work in a place like yours with tens of thousands of people, but there are still under three thousand of us and we didn't have any other Hausers. It's sad that it ended up being someone bad named after someone great, but that happens, I guess.

Chaco started flying in every spring again as soon as his Brace's war was over. We get drunk a lot and occasionally set things on fire. He stays until the leaves fall. He's aging very quickly. He actually didn't know that I'd become the Commander until he came here. He says he'll bring Landis with him next time, but I think that's because he's starting to forget the way. And frankly, I'm not looking forward to seeing Landis...that guy creeps me out.

I feel old. I know I don't look it, but I feel old. Especially since Queen and Chaco. I mean, it's one thing to see Aila and the knights around me growing up, and to see Geddoe and Edge tactfully not growing up, but to see Queen getting older and Chaco getting downright old is just a little creepy, when I look in the mirror and see the same kind of face very morning. And then, to hear that Lepant's dying of old age while I sit here and...don't.

I could go to his funeral. I seriously could--I mean, I've got adjuncts I trust, I could leave them here and pay proper respects to the old stick-in-the-mud President. But most of the people I know that will be there are going to look different than they used to and I don't think I can take all of that at once. It'll be faces I used to know, and then you and me and whatever others of us show up. Do you think McDohl will make it? (If he does I don't want to see old Gremio...that'll just be scary. To see the guy I gave a year of my life to resurrect with one foot in the grave...)

Do you think we'll ever get used to this, Sasarai?

Anyway, I should probably stop rambling. Write back, I think I need it. And please, survive that funeral. If anyone asks for me, tell them they're welcome to stop by...just please, one at a time.

_-Futch_

-

_To Commander Futch Schvarzeleber,_

Your letter reached Us in a timely fashion and We were able to bear your concerns in mind to the funeral of former President Lepant. The funeral itself was a moving testimony to the man's life and work and We would have been honored to preside; however, his wife the Lady Eileen conducted the service most admirably. The Lord Sheena also delivered a touching eulogy.

Of those that attended, several did in fact inquire after you, and the general reception of your absence was understanding coupled with a marked lamentation. We did not know that you had sent a gift in addition to the wishes you conveyed to Us in your most welcome epistle, and were rather impressed with the performance of your Drill Guard, and We did not appear to be the only one amazed. There is something about a flock of dragons flying in formation that is as overwhelmingly majestic and humbling as a true brush with fate, and to see your men in flight at the last rites of one marked by such destiny, and to whom we were linked by such destiny, stopped Our heart for a moment.

After the service itself, I discoursed some with Lady Pendragon and Sir Frederic Maximillian, who brought with them happier tidings. Apparently they had been engaged in correspondence similar to ours, and had negotiated the marriage of their houses. Lady Pendragon's youngest, Carlo, will marry Sir Frederic's daughter Huguette, when she comes of age in a few years. We of course applauded the wise alliance between the Maximillian Knights and Tinto, though we would not have suspected Sir Frederic to initiate such a course of action. It turned out that We were incorrect, as Lady Pendragon credited him with the idea entirely in an uncharacteristic display of humility. To think that those erstwhile youths are not only parents themselves, but parents of children that will soon be marriageable instills feelings in Our breast similar to those in yours; We feel Our years, if not the age that accompanies them.

We also had the fortune to see the Lord Thomas of Budehuc, with his Cecile in tow, and several of the Zexen Delegation. The Lady Chris appeared to have the same idea as you, and sent an Honor Guard rather than attend herself. Lord Salome spoke most eloquently on her behalf. As We had not spoken to him since Our more recent dealing with the Grasslands, We also surmised and subsequently learned that the Silver Maiden remains the Silver Maiden. Apparently while We were in hiding Sir Keeferson married his kitchen-maid, making him the last of all the candidates of the original wager you held with Sir Latkje to have opted not to marry Lady Chris. As appointed overseer of the aforementioned wager We declare you, Futch (now Schvarzeleber), the victor of this gamble, and summarily declare the game resolved. Enclosed with this letter is the sum agreed upon between you and Sir Latkje on the rising of the ninth moon in the year In Solis 475. However, We suspect via our arts that the Lord Salome is not telling Us the whole truth concerning Lady Chris' condition, and so reserve the right to call back the dispensation at a future date if the truth of the matter surfaces.

This reminds Us; though it is not our concern, as a Bishop, to seek out a wife, We found Ourself wondering if you have taken the route of the Lady Chris, and of Geddoe, and in fact of most of the Bearers as ourselves. The only cases of lasting marriage among True Rune Bearers I have come across in my experience have involved either the abandonment of the Rune itself, untimely death, or the introduction of an alternative form of immortality (i.e. vampirism) in order to placate the runeless party. Even your predecessor ended up abandoning the Rune for the sake of her loved ones, if We are not mistaken in our recollection. As someone who, unlike Us, has the option before him to take a wife, to what extent does your responsibility to the Rune hinder your desire? Or does such desire exist?

To return to the matter of the Lord Thomas, he is well, and his center for free trade continues to prosper, though recent years have seen a decline in activity related to the Grasslands. This is, of course, Our doing, and he suspected as much, but had the grace not to enact a scene. He even managed to restrain his Cecile from her attempts to injure and embarrass Us. She has failed to mature, though she has aged, and they are married. They do not yet have children. We suspect that Cecile's metabolism is too high to maintain pregnancy and that Lord Thomas' stamina is too low to initiate it.

As for Sir Latkje, or Sir Clovis, or whichever, he remains in Our loose employ, hence my acquisition of his payment for your wager. His wife is well and sends her regards. He is, perhaps, Our equivalent to your Edge, in years prior; he fails to age. (Your news of Edge and the Star Dragon Sword intrigues Us. Perhaps you will do Us the favor of allowing Edge to transcribe the entirely of the tale, such as he knows it, so that We may append it to Our annals?)

We did not see Lord McDohl, nor his Gremio. We suspect that, if they attended, they did not wish to be seen, and certainly had the means by which to apply stealth and pay their respects simultaneously. Both were sorely missed by those that attended and knew him. Lord McDohl's former servants were among those that spoke for Lepant, and the maintainer of his house, whose name evades me at the moment, presented to Lord Sheena and Lady Eileen a letter that Lord McDohl had left in her care to be delivered on this day, some years prior. I have not read it.

The current president of the Toran Republic of course made an appearance as well, but seemed to fade into the swarm of Our memories. He is a man We do not know, a civilian chosen by the people in their haze of peace in Our time underground. In years, We will surely come to know him, but We fear that when we do, his term will have near-ended and the cycle will require re-initiation. It is Our belief that We will never fully understand democracy, no matter how many years give Us the opportunity. Perhaps it will become Our life's bane.

So many marriages and similar blessings, coupled with the unintentional reunions that tend to prevent funeral rites from becoming entirely somber gatherings, have nonetheless emphasized the frailties of Our own position. We suspect that it is as you feared for yourself and thus avoided. We feel unsettled and rather melancholy, and old. We ought not feel such things given Our station as a man of God, covetousness especially, but We do. We do not feel so strongly as to undo what We have done, but the skies are new-overcast above the road ahead of Us.

We are relieved to hear the news of your visitors over the past six years. Do give Our regards to Edge, Chaco, and whomever else takes it upon himself to visit with you. And should you see him again, wish the best of luck to Geddoe in his missions. As for Viki, offer her a handkerchief and see when it takes her.

We pray for you continued prosperity and the well-being of those you hold dear.

-

_Sasarai-_

Thank Nash for the potch. I told him so! I couldn't make it clear to him, if Chris slept with any of her Knights she'd risk losing the other five or six or whatever the total is, and she can't do that. I'd almost forgotten about that old bet, actually. Leave it to him to remember, and I'm glad he's still hanging around you. Have you trained Dios' replacement yet?

I'm glad the funeral tuned out to be not so bad, and yeah, I sent the Drill Guard. Lepant always liked dragons, tried to emulate them really, and we kept up a good relationship during his terms. I'm not sure I agree with you about Toran's political system, but I do know that I would have kept more in touch with Toran and their politics if I actually had time to get to know the guy in office. I'm kind of wallowing in isolationism here, though, between my not wanting to think about Louis sleeping with his servants (thanks a lot for that image, Sasarai) or see Sheena go grey.

About what you asked, the whole "wife" thing...I can still get with the ladies, if that's what you mean, but I don't think it is, since you never seemed to care much about that. If you mean, do I think if I fell in love I could get married, the answer is no. With all due respect, Milia screwed that up. Among her last words to me were "I want you to remember that you're already more than one person. Don't try to be two." Thoughts of finding some mage to duplicate me aside, what I think she meant was that by taking up this particular rune and becoming the link to the Dragons, I'm already bigger than what I am, and if I try to be both more and less than myself I'm screwed. She didn't think I could be both the Commander of a world of fearsome beasts and its human adherents and a normal human man with a wife and kids. And you know what? She's right. She was stronger and more responsible than I am, and she couldn't handle it when her daughter and husband died. I see myself getting broken up about the aging and deaths of my old war buddies--how on earth could I handle the death of my other half?

The Flame Champion Taiji had one idea, and McDohl and Ted and Chris and Geddoe have another, and Luc had a third. I'm with the majority, sorry--the thing on my left hand and what could happen if it stops being on my left hand takes precedence over the fourth finger.

And to answer your implied question, I don't know if this is me talking or the Rune. If Milia hadn't given it to me, who knows? I was already unmarried and nearly forty when she chose me. In a way, it's no different than the life of a soldier, or a clergyman, or some twisted combination of the things such as yourself. Just the stakes are higher.

Speaking of high stakes and Flame Champions, your lack of news about Hugo disturbs and kind of offends me. I'm sure you haven't given up on him, and if he were able to he'd have sworn revenge and sent a call out for Silverbergs years ago. The conclusion is that he's not able to because you haven't given up on him, or he's dead. You can tell me, Sasarai--what the Hell can I do about it either way? In fact, I think I know--I just want to hear it from you.

On a less demanding note, the idea of a Pendragon-Maximillian union also kind of disturbs and offends me, only because it makes a reasonable amount of sense. I have a feeling that whoever came up with lemon-poppy bread was similarly crazy. Now there are going to be Pendragon-Maximillian muffins all over the world. Do us all a favor and pray for our souls, your eminence.

Glad to see that Thomas matured some, less glad to see that Cecile didn't. I just sent Edge over to them at Budehuc to offer his services as a Bujutsu teacher. Maybe he can attract a little more Grassland business if he shows there's nothing to be scared of. You are holding up that promise to lay off the Grasslands for the time being, right?

Keep well,

_-Futch_

---

-IS 500-

_To Commander Futch Schvarzeleber,_

Allow this letter to convey Our wish to you for a happy Turning. To think, it has been five hundred years since Our divine Father began this reckoning of the cycles! The thought overwhelms Us, and reminds Us that We, too, may see as many as five hundred voyages around the sun.

As the Quintcentennial, this will be a year of unparalleled celebration in Harmonia. While We will surely be called upon to maintain Our dignity, We are sure that some manner of diversion will be had. There shall be plays and parties, jousts and other tournaments of skill, fine foods and parades and new works of art throughout Crystal Valley. Perhaps you will take it upon yourself to join Us for a short stay? We will be most prepared to put you and some of your guard up in a section of the city, and to make available to you every convenience necessary for your stay. We recall also that you are welcome to the manor of the Eizal family, and urge you to pay them a visit if you do deign to grace Our country with your presence.

In light of your confessions regarding the dying words of your predecessor, We feel somewhat enlightened as to the nature of your predicament and will not further address the manner. We apologize if We have overstepped the bounds of propriety. We will, however, express some lack of concern for such propriety, in light of your comment that We are 'some twisted combination of a soldier and a clergyman', and consider the remark tit-for-tat.

Our associates failed to intercept Edge on his journey to Budehuc. By what route did you send him? And had you expressed to him the possibility of transcribing his adventures prior to his departure from your company?

We pray you have a time of celebration as we have, and for your health and prosperity.

-

_Sasarai-_

No offense taken. The difference is that I didn't take your question as an insult to my person and just answered it.

Thanks for the invite. We're having our own festivities here, but we're using the Dragon Calendar too, and it's an important year on that end as well. Or it will be--they start their year on the day after the longest night, in the beginning of winter, and it'll be the Eldest Living's 3000th. We only know because we're still getting the letters from the cave we're watching him in, but it's still a big deal. So that celebration's going to start right when the human one is ending and we have to plan for it now--provided Eldest Living doesn't die on us, and even if that happens we have an even bigger deal of planning the funeral--which means I may not get out to the Valley to stay with you. But I will try. I promise. You're making a very tempting offer, and I've got to let my second-in-command test his wings sometimes. You wouldn't like him, though, so don't kill me if I decide to come to Harmonia.

Also, it has come to my attention that I just got you to put the word 'tit' in writing. Now, how do I go about taking that out of context...

I jest, I jest. I haven't shown these letters to anyone else, you know. Not that I impose the same on you, but I figured you were doing as much.

And a third thing. That letter marks yet another dismissal of my questions about Hugo. I'll just stop prying and start keeping a running tally. Or I'll send some spies. Lord knows I have eager new recruits, waiting to prove themselves by doing something just crazy enough. I think I'll just boot them out to do some reconnaissance in the Grasslands. Just so you know. So you don't think we're searching for holes in your country's figurative walls. Because we're not. We're searching for recently-dug graves. And I promise to tell mine to stay the Hell away from the Valley if you promise to keep the SFDF off my ass.

I hope you've had a good time with the festivities so far. Any new plays? I mean, well, of course there are new plays, but any particularly good ones or, even better, scathingly horrible ones? And speaking of scathingly horrible plays, what's the latest on the Silverberg clan? Are any of them still working for you? And, just so I know for the future, where can I procure one?

_-Futch_

-

_To Commander Futch Schvarzeleber,_

We anticipate your arrival and are optimistic as to your finding the means to accept our proposal. In the meantime, We bid you enjoy the festivities according to the fashions of your people and are eager to learn more about how the Dragon Knights celebrate.

In light of your request for nonintervention and permission to engage in a reconnaissance mission in the Grasslands, We are willing to comply under the following terms:

First, that you do not stray from the boundaries of the Grasslands-that-were. You are bound by Caleria in the west, Tinto in the south, Brass Castle in the East, and Hei-To in the north. Beyond that mountain you are no longer under Our jurisdiction nor protection, and within those cities you must abide by the customs of the populace. We also cannot protect your knights if they venture into Alma Kinan or the place of the Lizards. These tribes, as you'll recall, are xenophobic in nature.

Second, that you do not take the goodwill We have done you and use it to foster malcontent among the Grassland citizens. Toward that end We will go so far as to lend your knights a guide. We have already sent word to Caleria, where We presume you will initiate your reconnaissance, and have enlisted a woman called Sister Morley to serve as Our conduit. She will not police your actions; she will merely serve as a reporter to me. If you send more than one coterie, Sister Morely has the means to recruit more like herself to attach to each troupe. Note, please, that the presence of Sister Morley and her ilk is among Our conditions, and that if you do not accept said condition We will not facilitate your operation in Our sovereign territory.

Third, that you do not accompany your knights. This should be a given.

Fourth, that you do not engage any of Our troops in combat for any reason, excepting self-defense. This includes the militia of third-class citizens in Le Buque, the Vale of the Ducks, Chisha, and Karaya. Sparring-in-jest among your knights and parties of Ours shall be tolerated only if Sister Morley or her associates are approving of the matter. Tavern brawls are excepted.

Should you consent to these terms, We swear on the rings on Our divine Father's hand that yours shall be welcome in Our commonwealths the Grasslands.

Do excuse the precautions We take. We merely act as befitting Our position.

Also, We do not believe Silverbergs are the type to be "procured." You might "enlist" one; though both Caesar and Albert have fled to bloodier pastures, We are sure a few of their cousins remain in Toran, though we do not know how many of these are strategists. If you are in doubt, We suggest going to the source; Soldat is still operational, is it not?

We thank you for your well-wishing with regard to the diversions inherent of the Turning. There have, in fact been new plays and music. Two in particular strike Us as worth conveyance to you in an effort to entice you to join Us for a brief stay in Our Valley. The first is a moving one, a fantasy called "To Free My Commodore", a revisit to the fable of Captain Helmut and his father. We cite it as prominently as this only because dear Shabon has taken the role of the Pirate Queen, which she assumes most wrenchingly and appealingly. She remembered Us from her childhood, and even should she not recall you, you surely recall her.

The other play is the worse of these, an unrefined riot that was nearly offensive to Our sentimentalities in places, but set Us laughing all the same. The full title should be enough to explain this; "The Uncensored Truths of the Six Knights of Zexen". Even Sir Salome, whose visit is still extant, laughed beside Us, though he confessed that neither Borus nor Percival would have found the trifle amusing.

Do please take it upon yourself to stay with Us. Even if you do not, We continue to pray for your prosperity and the well-being of yours, and wish you luck in your future enterprises, such as they are.

-

_Sasarai-_

The playwrights said that Borus does what with Percival?

...All right, you've sold me. I'm there. Crystal Valley, here I come! It's been a long time since I was there with Humphrey. Wow...yeah, a really long time. Longer than I want to admit.

I'll settle things up here and give my seconds a chance to feel big. And I'll stop at Soldat on the way and check up on the bloodline. Not out for war at all, hardly--it's just that Apple sent my library a copy of her biography, which is what reminded me. I just realized that if I'm going to be hanging around for a few more decades I'll need to stay on good terms with the Silverbergs. You too, actually. And what do you mean, "bloodier pastures"? Is Caesar okay?

Oh, and I agree to your terms. I just hope your priestess isn't offended by my young and eager knights and their tavern brawls. I'm sure you'll let me read her letters when you get them? After all, those are my knights she'll be talking about.

Once you've got the arrangements made for where to put me and my boys up--it'll be me and a party of twenty, mounted, and I don't mean on horses--write back and I'll be on my way. Should take us two weeks, counting prep, to make the journey, so take that into account when you annex whatever part of the city you're giving us. And I'll make us available for no more than three months--we have to get back here and take care of our own Big Deal Anniversary, which you of course are also invited to and I'll insist. If I don't get sick of you, that is.

See you soon!

Man, does it feel good to end a letter with that. So much less disconnected.

_-Futch_

-

_To Commander Futch Schvarzeleber,_

We are flattered and elated at your decision and look forward with a soaring heart to your arrival in Crystal Valley. You and your guard shall have every convenience and luxury for however long you deign to join us, and We shall do everything in Our power to ensure that your knights and their steeds are taken the thoroughest care of.

You recall how vast Our Valley is. In light of the reasons for your visit We made an effort to house you as close to the heart of the city as possible. We have in fact siphoned off one of the coliseums and the two adjacent blocks for the use of your company. The coliseum in question is new relative to your last excursion; it was constructed in commemoration of those dead in that last conflict with the Grasslands and named for the Lost Regiment, known prior to the tragedy as the company of Bishop Eidnor. I trust that its size will be sufficient as the stabling for twenty-one dragons, though I will expect you to restrict them to the compound as much as possible. We will say that the skies are their, and your, playground, and the mountains are yours to allow them their exercise, provided you do not disrupt our patrols.

Your accommodations are a series of apartments within three manses, each fit for as many as ten of your knights. The coliseum itself also houses boxes and quarters for any grooms you have in your entourage for the dragons. You will be escorted to these manses and the coliseum upon arriving at the border of the city, which you may do at your leisure. The buildings are surely not going anywhere! We anticipate your arrival!

In light of your other questions posed, We are surprised that you had not come into the knowledge of the recent doings of the Silverberg scions we had been acquainted with in the war years, especially the elder. Albert Silverberg has fashioned something of a playground for himself out of the Island Nations to the south, though we are certain his influence spreads farther than that even this early in the game. Caesar was all but deported and is apparently in a land called Marlintine, far overseas where only the most daring Zexen ships go. He has established himself there as an ambassador, as the people are apparently quite civilized. We used the designation "bloodier pastures" to differentiate between the peace and stability of Our kingdom with the volatility of the spaces to which those Silverbergs have flocked. Indeed, that family's position seems oft to be the eye of the hurricane, or else the individual members are lost to the wind.

Indeed, We shall see you soon, and as with you those words resonate joyously in Us.

* * *

_**Author's notes:**_

_Many thanks to K'Arthur and Renmazuo for betaing!_

_This work is going to get larger. A lot larger. I don't know if I will end up writing all five hundred years of it, but I've already got excerpts from the 600s and 900s, so..._

_Schvarzeleber means "Black-liver." Those of you familiar with Suikoden I know why Futch would choose this for a last name upon ascending to an aristocratic position._

_Many of the events described or hinted at are borrowed from my other works, and many of the works of fiction referenced and in-character speculations are nods to other authors. This will continue._

_Thank you so much for reading, and there is more forthcoming!_

_-MG_

* * *


	2. IS 501 to IS 503

-IS 501-

_Sasarai-_

Let me beat you to the punch when it comes to sending out the thank-you letters. After all, I was the first to take advantage of your hospitality. Tit-for-tat, eh?

Seriously, thank you for everything you've done. I mean, I've only had a surname for ten years--not even--and you treated me like royalty. This goes beyond sticking your neck out for me, this is like sticking your neck out with your face to a bonfire. I'd say I don't deserve it, but I know you'd do the same for nearly anyone. Nearly.

But still. You stabled twenty-one dragons for three months. That takes a pair. Not a lot of clergymen have that.

Believe me when I say that it's almost entirely thanks to you that I had such a great stay in the Valley. Not that the plays and the museums and the fights and tournaments and all that weren't stimulating--I just wouldn't have had a clue what to do if I was there as just a plain citizen. Nor would I have been able to do half the things I did, but that's beside the point. You showed me and my guards a damned fine time, your Eminence, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

And then it turns out no, it wasn't enough for you! You had to take me up on my offer to join us in Goya for the Eldest Living's birthday, which would of course pale in comparison to three months in Crystal Valley--especially considering that, by the nature of the ritual itself, I couldn't accommodate as many of your men as you did mine, and you probably would have needed a bigger guard than I did if your visit was public.

That's what I have to thank you for the most. You understood that I couldn't accept a courtly visit, but you still came. You literally paused your life for a month, for my sake. I don't think I've adequately expressed how honored I feel. I don't think I can.

That I didn't deserve. I mean, you did it for Hugo, but it was wartime and war calls for different things. You put aside your title and your allegiance in a time of peace for the sake of celebrating a culture that wasn't yours. I honestly didn't think a Harmonian would ever do that. Pardon the racism, but I've got a point, and you still blunted it.

Thank you, Sasarai, for joining us in celebration of the Eldest Living's three-thousandth birthday. I only wish he were turning thirty-five-hundred next year so I could make sure to get you back again.

_-Futch_

-

_Commander Schvarzeleber,_

Crafty of you, "beating Us to the punch". Your letter arrived in Crystal Valley before We did. Our associates were unsure of what to do with it and, more importantly, of where We were. Our Divine Father was somewhat displeased.

We forgive you, though. The adventure and your company throughout it proved more than worth Our endurance of the resultant admonishment by Our superior. Besides, Our Divine Father understood the reasons for Our surreptitious departure and was content to accept the whole situation as a visit of state, though in Our heart-of-hearts We do not believe it such.

We are floored by your praise. That is as succinctly as We can express it. We feel such flattery is undue, as nearly all of it is reciprocated. We assure you that all actions taken on Our part for the purpose of maintaining your quality of life in Crystal Valley were worth Our efforts. Though you are correct in that We would have taken similar consideration for any other of Our guests, We remind you that We did not extend such an offer to any others, nor would we have.

And as for your feelings on Our accepting your reciprocal invitation, do understand the appeal of what you offered Us! Not only would We be permitted to continue Our exposure to your company, We could do so in the presence of an event We would likely never have the opportunity to witness again. In the face of such magnanimity what could We do but accept? So please, know of the limited selfishness of Our actions, and you need not be so aghast and humbled. You were worth Our decision. We are sure you know that in your heart-of-hearts and are merely trying to assuage Us with undue and uncharacteristic modesty. There is no need to feign ignorance of your own place in Our heart.

If anything, We ought thank you for your extending the offers of lifetimes and the pleasure of your company to such a dangerous person as We, and for complying with wishes both articulated and un-. You generosity is unparalleled, and We Ourself are overwhelmed by it, much the same way you claim to be.

We pray for your continued correspondence and health.

_Fondly,_

_Sasarai I_

---

-IS 502-

_Sasarai-_

Sorry about the delay, but my boys have been having trouble in the Grasslands. I think you know all about that. In fact, I think you know more about it than I do. But I don't want to run the risk of turning these letters into something political, so I won't.

I'm good. I've been a bit occupied lately with the reconnaissance business, and a couple of other things, but since I'm holding true to your terms and can't go there myself there's a limit to what I can do. I'm sure that's why you put the ban in place--if I were you I wouldn't want me to find Hugo either--but I'm not you and I'm going to do everything I can to figure out what the Hell happened. Sorry.

You never said anything about recruiting allies that weren't my knights, so I kind of did that. They're not under my direct command, I'm not paying them anything, I barely even gave them the idea. I'm just endorsing their decision to pursue something that ultimately might coincide with my goals. Might, I said. They're following a lead, that's all.

The trouble was, of course, that I didn't want to get your sleepy dad ticked off at another country, since I don't want to be responsible for starting another war. Guess I got lucky that these guys passed through here last week bearing really bad news and looking for a good adventure. They're not affiliated with any country, so you can't legitimately start a war because of them--not that that would stop you--they work for cheap (cheap thrills, at least), and most importantly, they don't have any direct ties to the deceased. Just the bereaved. So we talked it over and they decided to look into one of the hints I gave them.

You know, their timing was perfect. They came on the heels of the on a pretty late realization on my part. I was going over reports from a decade ago when you were still at war, and looking for important names, commanders, runebearers, anything. I kind of expected you had Yuber on your side or something, but the words didn't smell like him. Besides, you'd never do that. And then said realization hit me, and I told these two guys and their talking sword about it, and even the talking sword was all for it.

Yes, I know they're supposed to be really old. One of them is. You seriously think that slows them down any?

Also, Humphrey's dead. That funeral I'm going to. These guys came back to get me since they knew I'd want to be there.

I'm giving the sword to his grandson. Thought you ought to know.

Keep well,

_-Futch_

-

_Commander Schvarzeleber,_

We extend our deepest condolences to you with regard to the passing of General Mintz. It is Our hope that he is treated with the honor he deserves in the next world, if there is any means by which to secure such a vast amount of respect for one human soul. Having come to know this man almost entirely through your stories, We have come to believe that no quantity or quality of any love for him but yours is sufficient, even the welcome arms of the hereafter.

In light of this news, We have taken the liberty of sending kind words and prayers to the Mintz family, tardiness aside.

We are sure that this missive will await your return to Goya, and hope that said return is made with more hope and less grief than you are undoubtedly plagued by as We write.

_Fondly,_

_Sasarai I_

-

_Sasarai-_

Thank you. I'm sure the family thanks you too, but I'm not in a position to say.

They didn't accept the sword. Yeah, shocked me too. They said that what Humphrey did was unprecedented--giving it to someone outside the family, namely me, while he was still alive, I mean--and that they had to honor his decision. I could tell they didn't like me very much, especially after I told them that it could very easily turn into four or five generations before I died, and that Humphrey probably hadn't known that when he gave me the sword in the first place. His wife just kind of sneered at that--you know the face, Luca Blight used to make it--and said that "Well, I guess by the time we get it back, it won't be a Mintz sword anymore." I told her where she could sheathe it if she managed to get it back this generation.

It was an interesting funeral.

His kids were a good deal nicer to me than his wife, and their kids were a mixed bag. The sword's supposed to go to the youngest in direct male line who can lift it. "Lift", not "heft". If it had been "heft" or "wield" I would have kept the sword anyway, since they're all pretty weak compared to Humphrey, but the guy that ended up fitting the "lift" criteria was a bad seed anyway. Dumb as a box of rocks, and I think that's a double insult coming from me. I'm not smart, just smartassed. Also, old, and the older you get, the stupider kids seem.

I should probably give them some credit, especially Madame Mintz. I mean, Humphrey married her, and there are little Mintzes puttering around Gregminster, so she has to have had, at some point, a redeeming quality. At least one. She may have lost it, but Humphrey loved her at some point, and she loved him. If I give her the benefit of the doubt, I mean. Which I'm doing. I'm just bitter, and so are they. Figures when I deal with grief around people I become a horrible person and when I deal with it alone...well, I just deal with it. Or I get sentimental to you.

Also, those guys I recruited are on their way now. Thanks for not saying a word in your last letter. That way I can pretend you don't know and haven't done anything about it yet. Frankly, I'm not sure I want to know what you think of or plan to do, so this way we're both happy.

I was hoping to find and contract a Silverberg at the funeral, but there weren't any. Since these letters aren't political, can you point me in the right direction? I mean, this kind of quest seems right up the family alley.

_-Futch_

---

-IS 503-

_Commander Schvarzeleber,_

It is Our observation that you misunderstand the nature of "Silverberg". Given, your experience with the family has ever been from a greater distance than Ours, though nominally for longer. We will endeavor to explain.

The Silverberg credo has, in recent years, been thoroughly and meticulously violated, much to the chagrin of many, including Ourself. The schism of the brothers that aided us in the Second Fire Bringer War exhibits this at its most extreme yet, and has resulted in Albert's tenebrous imperialism in the apparent form of a self-imposed exile, and Caesar's deportation. Neither brother can be said to exemplify the foundations of the family.

You surely recall Lord Leon and Lord Mathiu. These great men are the source of the disparity, as you well know, at least upon reflection. By calling into question whether the strategist himself is above the fate of his troops, Mathiu disrupted the central pillar of the family's ideologies; its elitism. Silverbergs believed that the loss of the strategist was the effective loss of the army, hence their emphasis on the furthering of strategy as an art, and hence their subsequent fame.

The resultant deconstruction of that elitism perpetuated the nascence of other disputes and contradictions within the family's infrastructure; for instance, whether the burden of minimalizing casualties is more relevant than the creed to limit casualties to the military. It was raised, perhaps, "Is assassination an acceptable tactic if the target is civilian?" After that, "Is assassination an acceptable tactic if the target is a strategist?" And, "If the strategist is an acceptable target, is he not risking his life (and, by extension, the life of his army) by simply fulfilling the role of strategist?" And then, Mathiu was himself assassinated.

One debate leads to another in a family of that kind. They are intelligent, after all. And debate leads to camps of thought, and camps of thought oppose. The differences between the camps become their banners, and are emphasized until the point at which the original ideals, the similarities, are lost in favor of distinction. In the case of Lord Mathiu and Lord Leon, the recreated Silverberg philosophies became dependent on whether the strategist was above his soldiers, or equal-but-different. In as little as a generation, arrogant Albert ascribes himself to the first, and slovenly Caesar the second, and neither son is Silverberg in essence.

Albert emphasizes his superiority and Caesar his approachability. Neither of these qualities is a vaunted Silverberg trait--in fact, both go against the ideals of the credo as Lord Leon learned it.

As for the other points you addressed in your letter, We are sorry, though amused, that the rites of General Mintz played out as they did, and are relieved that the Muramasa was not passed to someone unworthy of it. We endorse your decision to withhold it and theirs to let you. Perhaps General Mintz's characteristics will skip a few generations, and you will find among his scions a worthy soul when Madame Mintz has long gone back to the earth.

We pray for your luck along your chosen course of action, and your health.

_Fondly,_

_Sasarai I_

-

_Sasarai-_

In other words, I'm on my own. Ah, well. Thanks for the history lesson, though.

This is going to seem like an odd question, but you're probably a good person to ask it. Probably because my current Second-in-command has been acting strangely lately. I mean more than usual. Beyond the midnight flights and the dwarven ale.

There's a tradition among the Dragon Knight Captains. I think you remember the way I treated my Second and my Third when you were visiting, and I think it might have struck you as different than the way you treated your new Second. And I noticed you didn't have a "Third." Maybe it's because you're also a Second yourself. But do you remember that I wrote my Second and Third separate missives when I was staying with you?

The thing we Dragon Knights do about succession tends to seem weird to other people, especially ones from places that are ruled like Toran. One of the earliest Captains figured out that it was a bad idea to let the Second-in-Command be next in line for the position of Captain. For one thing, the role of a second isn't to be the ruler, it's to be the guy that stops the ruler from screwing up. The best Second is one who never has to stand in for the Captain in any way, really. It's kind of like during the wars, how the Tenkai sometimes existed for the explicit purpose of getting all the attention so the strategist didn't get assassinated. Not that it worked, but that was a special case and I still hope Sanchez burns in Hell for what he did. The point remains that unless the threat's an inside threat, the Second-in-Command should stay as far out of the limelight as possible.

That's why it's important that I have a Third-in-Command, and the tradition here in Goya is that the Third is the successor. This really makes a lot of things easier. For one thing, if the Third ascends, he'll get to have the same Second I did, at least for a while, and that way he can learn the ropes. If the Second tries to mutiny, the Third can stop him and totally veto it, and if the Third tries to mutiny, the Second's usually powerful enough to get him out of office. (And if the Second and the Third mutiny together, there's probably a damned good reason for getting the Captain out of power and I don't blame them a bit.)

But what do you do when you think your Second's going crazy? When push comes to shove, he's more important than your Third as long as you're alive and well. And a Third is easier to replace. The only times in Dragon Knight history that there have been coups, the Second was either behind it or completely out of the picture. My Second's getting old and getting crazy--what would you do in my position?

_-Futch_

-

_Commander Schvarzeleber,_

So is Ours, when We think about it. In his case, though, he was already crazy, and We can do naught but let him remain so.

Come to think of it, Our position is very different than yours, in that Our Second is a more active in Our affairs than we are. The situation is not as it was with the Deacon Dios Eizal, and his replacement was not the first name to come to mind when you inquired as to Our "Second." I doubt he is viewed as such in the public eye. However, it seems natural that this body is not put into jeopardy by those to whom it matters more than Us, and that Our retainers enjoy greater liberties. You have confessed to feeling similarly about removing yourself for three months to visit with Us in Harmonia. It is the same for Us, different only in that it has always been so. At least we can be assured that Our Second will be around for years to come, provided he doesn't get impaled on a certain talking sword.

In your position, We would allow your Third to recommend potential advisors to be groomed. Given your race's history and the longevity of your past (and current) leaders, there is likely a precedent.

We pray for your health and that of your Second, and for the stability of your regime.

_Fondly,_

_Sasarai I_

-

_Sasarai-_

You can't be serious. You think of Nash as your Second? When did that start?

I'm so glad these letters aren't political. Otherwise I could have gotten on your country's bad side. Remind me never to do that. Ever.

Unless, of course, the guys with the talking sword do what they said they were planning on doing. It'll be easier to get on your bad side then. I shudder to think what Nash does to people who put you off.

_-Futch_

-

_Commander Schvarzeleber,_

So do We.

Do take care of yourself, friend. It is growing cold in Goya at this time of year, is it not?

_Fondly,_

_Sasarai I_

---


	3. IS 504 to IS 506

---

-IS 504-

_Sasarai-_

A little bird told me that his father managed to sire another round of eggs. I of course congratulated Dominguez III to his face, but I wanted to offer the same congratulations to the father and, of course, the presumably happy godfather. That would be you. Congratulations. By the time this letter reaches you, they may have hatched already, so you'll have to tell me how many of them survived, and whether they're as capable as their father and grandfather at bridging gaps.

Father and grandfather...do you realize how old we are?

Do you think any of those birds would mind coming here once they leave the nest? I'd like to train a few. It would be useful to have some messengers that can go where dragons can't. I'm sure you understand that. Of course, I'll completely understand if you think it'll compromise your own network, but I can promise I'll never use anything you give me against you. Just like with these letters.

And yes, it is getting cold up here, but it's less cold than it was the winter you were here. Chaco left before I got your letter. I don't think he'll be back in the spring. Wingers age at twice the rate humans do, did you know that? So even if he's still alive I don't think he'll be able to make the flight, even with help. I might go out and visit him instead, actually. I owe him that. And it's been a long time since I've gone out to Two River.

Lucky you, with the reasonable weather in the city this time of year. The leaves haven't even started falling there, right? Keep well!

_-Futch_

-

_Commander Schvarzeleber,_

If all has gone according to plan, there are two Nasal birds bearing this missive to you. One of them you know as Dominguez III. The younger will be yours to name and train, after a few more flights with her elder brother. We think you will rather enjoy her personality.

Do give Our best to Chaco, if you go to Two River for his last days. He has lived a good life, and We recall his tales and songs rendered during Our stay in Goya. We sincerely wish that fickle Time had not seen fit to set him as Our enemy until so late in the game.

If it provides him any comfort, do tell him that We occasionally recall his songs and find Ourself humming them at inopportune moments, at court and services. Why, as little as a month ago We were awaiting an audience with Our Divine Father, and found Ourself alone in the antechamber. Before We knew it We were whistling, and We realized the similarity between the plainchant melody We began with and the tavern-ballad we ended with a little too late. Our Divine Father's secretary was quite perplexed on his return. We, however, were amused, and could not stop smiling in the presence of Our Divine Father.

We fear We shall never be able to hear "O Bastion of Stasis" without superimposing the refrain of "What Came of Poor Dear Millie?". We shall have to be especially careful when singing that hymn. I do not presume Our Divine Father will be so titillated as We.

Perhaps when you wrote the letter, the leaves had not yet fallen, but when I send this come morning it seems there shall be blankets in Our courtyard and gardens for the burrowing leeches. The seasons are stronger than Our Divine Father would have them, this year and the year preceding. We feel somehow to blame, and guilty that we are desirous of the advent of Winter.

We pray for your health and that of your charges, and that you take a liking to the young Nasal.

_-Sasarai I_

-

_Sasarai-_

You have a weird sense of humor. Why do I get such a clear picture of you mixing up the lyrics and your cheeks going red? If I remember correctly, you go the same color when you're embarrassed that you do when you're put to bed with the shovel. Or maybe you were always just embarrassed to be drunk. Also, you'll forgive me for rubbing salt in old wounds, but you're a lightweight. You and Chaco both, but at least he has the excuse of having hollow bones.

Thank you, thank the Dominguezes, and of course thank the bird herself. All went according to plan, and I'm calling her Slate. She calls me "boss." I think we'll get along fine. After one more trip back to you, I'll send her on her first outside errand. I'll keep it easy and send her to the Valley. I know he's not the type to show his face around your neck of the woods much anymore, but have you touched base with Klaus lately? You'd know if the Windamier estate had suddenly grown legs and skulked away in the night, I'm sure.

I just want to get in touch with as many people as I can before they all up and leave. Too late, I know, but I've been really nostalgic since Humphrey. You don't blame me, I'm sure, but most of your old friends are either immortal like us or already dead. Except for Salome, that is, but we're both already in touch with him. I hear he has a son, now. Well, three years ago. About time, I say.

Sometimes I wish I had the time and inclination to have a kid. I know how thoroughly bad an idea it is--just look what happened to Wyatt--and I don't think the Dragon Knights could handle another one of me, but still. We've talked about this before, I know, but I'm pretty sure we were drunk.

The desire just won't up and die already. I hear, though, that the longer you live, the more likely you are to shoot headless arrows. It's true for Dragons, once they hit a millennium or so. I wonder what the cap is for humans.

Not that it matters. The girls who warm my bed don't get pregnant if they don't want to. It's something they figured out a long time ago and I don't for the life of me want to pay the price for figuring out how they do it.

I finally found the words for how I feel. Took me long enough. Wine isn't wine until you uncork it. It's just a bottle of stuff that supposedly gets better, stronger, worth more the less you bother it. Well, at least red wine does that. But all the time it spends getting better is time spent not doing what it's supposed to be doing, that is, getting drunk. So I'm getting better equipped to handle death the longer I live, but that's at the expense of creating life. And dying, because people are supposed to die.

Someone in your line of work probably said it better. I think I'm in the same hole as your religion. No offense meant.

Slate will probably mock me to you when she delivers this. She's making fun of me now for being so unhappy, says I'll get wrinkles. I really like this bird.

Take care of yourself.

_-Futch_

-

_Commander Schvarzeleber,_

We are not a lightweight. We maintain that you merely provide stronger alcohol than We are used to in quantities suitable for small villages.

To persist in the talk dwelling on wine both corked and un-, you are right in that someone in Our "line of work" has expressed similar sentiments to yours on the matter of fatherhood. It is a popular belief among those in Our most sagacious circle that natural children are not the only ones on whom we may bestow a love that is familial, hence why we call each other Brother, our disciples Sons and Daughters, and We refer to Our Divine Father accordingly. Ideally, the clergy compensates for its genetic impotence with potent respect and nurturing. Or at least, that is how We feel, and Our view is biased.

We know, though, that the above does not answer your question. We understand that in order to prevent the advent of dysphoria, men such as you and We must refrain from progenating any attachment that could be severed so violently, be it through the bonds of marriage or fatherhood. And no doubt our continued agerasia would make Our role of parent come into question as the children grew. We are already experiencing this with Our disciples of old. Already rumors of Our apotheosis have begun to circulate, even among those with whom we have behaved most commonly. Because We do not age, Our pupils are ill at ease with their own advancement and are disheartened. Perhaps this is why Our Divine Father has secluded himself. Perhaps We should take to a mask, as Our Brother did, but is not the mark of youth upon Our skin deception enough?

Do ask this of the ladies whose company you keep, if there are any among them who have been with you for long enough. Does it strike them odd, that as their breasts sag and cheeks dimple, the only mark of the passage of time that manifests on their liege is the length of his hair? Does it not unsettle them, as it once unsettled you, that your visage is all but frozen?

Inspired by your predicament, We have asked similar of one of Our dear friends, the erstwhile mortal lover of a True Rune Bearer. Though their time together was limited, surely she had given thought to their future together. We shall convey her answer to you if she does not do so herself. She has always had a gift for shedding light on dark matters as these.

Perhaps it is not so much that you desire to be a father, Futch, but that you desire to see tangible, sentient proof of your own existence. We know that We shared this desire for some time. We no longer do. Our Brother's revelation certainly contributed to the passulation of that hope. For what good is there in creating a living being if only to have it destroy you and your legacy?

The Windamier estate is where it has ever been. I am sure Lord Klaus will be glad to hear from you.

We pray for your health and the easing of your mind.

_Fondly,_

_Sasarai I_

-

_Sasarai-_

No, your Eminence, you're a lightweight. That's what it's called when two glasses of wine make you giggle like a girl.

After giving a list of all those words that confused me to my new Second, I caught your drift. I've got one or two ladies that I'd be comfortable asking that question to--with a much more common tone of voice, to be sure, but I can ask it. One of them you might remember, Len. She took the teaching to heart, that she and her sisters are allowed to see me the way no one else does, and that to them I'm not a god.

...Did I ever fully explain that to you? I mean, while I was drunk. I wouldn't have told you when I was sober. I mean, I know you know that the ladies exist--I apologize for that night--and what kind of ladies they are, but I wouldn't have told you why they exist.

So you have books and prayers and other things to keep you distracted from what little apparent sexual desire you possess. And, if my Second translated "apotheosis" correctly, people are treating you like a god. You've been here. They do the same kind of thing to me sometimes. Well more than sometimes. Because even if I'm not a god, it's just as bad for them if I'm not happy.

But guys in my position aren't always made happy by books and prayers and half-crazed pet vampires. Some of us like sex. Most of us, actually. You're missing out, but you knew that already. So after figuring out that when the Captain wasn't getting any, the dragons were sad, a bunch of women decided to take it upon themselves to make sure the Captain always had someone to go to. And they worked the kinks out of the system over the course of a few centuries, until we have what we now have. It's a position of honor, but the whole alliance is a little under-the-table, since some of the girls are also in training to be Knights. And if the Captain doesn't go for girls, well, that's also how Millia met Arkady.

When you were here, or when Chaco comes over, I don't call on them much. I didn't need to (except for that one night, and again, sorry for embarrassing you) when you were here because, well, I wasn't lonely. And I didn't feel old until Chaco joined us, which is why I called on the girls that night.

Absolutely none of this is going into my letter to Klaus, you know. I can only imagine the look on his face. No offense to the man, but he takes "prude" as a compliment. Or, well, he did back when we were kids.

I'll be writing him from Two River. I was right, Chaco's not going to make it. A boy from his Brace arrived with a letter this morning. He's going to jump when the others fly, on the first day of Spring.

Can you come with me? More to the point, do you want to? I know it's short notice, but in case you can't tell, I miss you.

Take care.

_-Futch_

-

_Commander Schvarzeleber,_

It is Our hope that this letter awaits you in Winghorde. We are sorry to say that We are unable to make it.

We were confused as to what you meant when you wrote that Chaco was planning to 'jump when the others flew', but Dominguez III's offhanded remark about leaving the sky prompted Us to ask. We were unaware of the customs of birds and their elderly.

Dominguez III explained it to Us that a moored bird is a murdered bird. Among the lesser birds, those who do not fly are merely left behind, but among those such as the Nasal those who retain their minds but not their wings choose to defy their fate at the next migration. When the rest of their flocks take skyward from the precipice or tree, the elderly or crippled Nasal alights with them, and falls to his death, as a last word to Fate that it cannot break his nature. In Our mind's eye We connected this with the Wingers, and the meaning of your words was clear. Chaco will deny that he cannot fly and break his body on the river trying. We have now seen it, and Our Rune saw it as well.

We were reminded of Our Brother. As we took this letter in Our courtyard, Our grief and Our Rune ruined that garden. The birch We sat beneath wintered and died. The barely greened grass under Our feet dried and curled and went golden. The early flowers withered, the bushes cracked, even the fennel We were growing underground shriveled. At the mere passing reminder of Our Brother, we prevented Spring from ever reaching this garden.

We cannot go to Two River and watch Chaco die, even as honorably as he has chosen to go. We are sorry, and wish Chaco Our best.

And as for you, We envy your confidence, and are likewise sorry that We cannot be there as your rock, as fragile--lightweight, even--a rock as We have proven to be. We urge you to be stronger than We.

We pray for your safe return to Goya. We miss you as well.

_Fondly,_

_Sasarai I_

-

_Sasarai-_

If a moored bird is a murdered bird, what is a childless man?

_-Futch_

-

_Commander Schvarzeleber,_

Similarly murdered.

But Futch, just because you are not a father does not mean you are childless. You are the father of two nations and would do well to remember that. Your people are your children. The dragons are your children. Your great works are your children. If you are concerned with contributing to the future, be assured that you have. Was President Lepant's legacy Toran or Lord Sheena? If Thomas of Budehuc never has a natural son, will his story be lost? If We are never to become a father beyond Our title, have We somehow failed?

Who is General Mintz's legacy, Futch? You, or the brood of ingrates in Gregminster?

_Fondly,_

_Sasarai I_

-

_Sasarai,_

Three letters were waiting for me when I got back to Goya from Two River. Yours was one of them, but it's the last I'm answering.

I answered Klaus' reply to my letter first. It was good to hear from him--why didn't you tell me he'd started going to services again? Or did that happen between his getting my letter and you sending yours? Anyway, that reminded me that I could contact some of the others I met in the Palace with you. I know you try to avoid Cole, but I can't for the life of me get you drunk enough to tell me why you do, so I'll ask Klaus. And Klaus is in touch with a few others from the Unification war, so maybe I'll track them down. Look for him at services next time!

And the second letter...I can't write her name down because you didn't either. But good god, Sasarai, sometimes your grasp of the world scares me. How long have you known where she is? And you risked revealing that just for getting my inane little hangup placated? You're too good to me, friend. I think you know that, though. In fact, I think you take some kind of pleasure in being better to me than I am to you, otherwise you wouldn't keep doing it. I mean, you stable my escort, hang out in my fortress for a month, keep things personal and not political between us, get me back in contact with old friends and now this. I'll never be able to make it up to you and you know it.

Thank you.

Between her words on the matter and yours, I've come to a more stable grip on the matter. She said that being in love with a True Rune Bearer made her feel 'small' at first, aware of how little a role she really played in the world. But she loved him deeply despite all the wrongs he did her, and he at least allowed himself to care for her before the end of their active relationship.

She said that she still has his ring, but doesn't wear it. And she said that they don't have a child, even though she does. This confused me for a while, but I know it's not my place to ask what she means by it. I can't bear to think of her suffering the same way her mother did, so I won't.

I won't repeat everything she wrote to me, because she said she sent pretty much the same message to you. But again, between her and you I'm feeling a good deal better about the whole situation.

And then there's your letter. I'm sorry I insulted you. I'm sorry I killed your garden. And I'm sorry I couldn't come up the extra few hundred miles to visit you after things were done in Winghorde. I should have.

Spring's already halfway over down here, but it's going to be a cool summer at this rate, my Second tells me. Which reminds me--how are things with yours?

Take care of yourself, Sasarai. And the plants.

_-Futch_

-

_Commander Schvarzeleber,_

You need not apologize. By doing so, it is you who are too good to Us. And We maintain that we behave with only the affection and consideration you deserve, to the best of Our rather limited ability in conveying the respect We owe you.

We are glad that our lady-friend's words have calmed you somewhat, though We admit it leaves Us at a loss for what to write in return. Out of concern for her safety We believe We shall not address the matter further.

To elaborate on the matter of concerns of one's safety, Our Second continues to be animated and well despite the efforts of your illicit hirelings. By all reports he and his wife are enjoying their tour of the Grasslands, despite the time constraints placed on them. Sir Latjke expressed a particular lypthomania about having to be rushed out of Le Buque before he got to ride a mantor himself this time. He shall bring that up if your men ever catch him, We are certain of it.

We are going to great lengths to rest after that episode with Our Rune in the garden, and have not been attending the elaborate functions, which is perhaps why we have not seen Lord Windamier. We will, of course, look for him when We return to the courtly life. We are glad that your correspondence with him has been favorable and that he is in good health. His annals have proven quite helpful to Harmonian campaigns in recent years, and his contribution to the Silverberg school of thought is marked. Or perhaps we should say the Bastion school of Silverberg thought, as Lord Windamier ascribes most to the teachings of Lord Shu (who, if you did not know, has purchased that aptonym, Bastion, as of a decade or more ago). Lord Shu is undoubtedly among the names provided to you by Lord Windamier of potential future targets to whom you may direct dear Slate. For some reason beyond Our ken, however, we surmise that the relationship you once maintained with Lord Shu was, if not antagonistic as the one We shared with you, tenuous at the very least. We do not imagine he looked kindly on youths as you were during the period of your acquaintance.

The advent of summer looms rather heavily on the horizon; it shall be humid and dense here, with frequent rains. While this will surely prove good for Our gardens, it displeases Our Divine Father. Our Divine Father intends to rectify this shift in the weather, which is unbecoming of Our Valley, or so saith He. If We may presume to say as much, We could use the rain.

We pray for your continued prosperity and the well-being of those you hold dear.

_Fondly,_

_Sasarai I_

---

-IS 505-

_Sasarai-_

Sorry to have taken so long. Your pet vampire's wife nearly killed my 'hirelings'. I had to deal with that. The talking sword was reportedly really teed off. But don't worry, they're alive, well, and still sending me biweekly progress reports. I can't believe it's taken this long. Neither can they. But that's what we both get for keeping things under the table, right? Something surprises you, you stand up too quickly, you wind up with a headache.

Speaking of headaches, I do honestly hope you're feeling better. Have you ever thought that your country's weather might be connected to your Rune, like the garden was? I mean, I don't think yours is more powerful than your sleepy dad's, but even that might have something to do with his Rune channeling your general malaise into something gradual as opposed to catastrophic. That's how the Circle Rune works, right? Takes the sudden and flattens it out as it happens?

I've been doing research. Can you tell?

I got another letter from Klaus about a week ago. He said he still hadn't seen you twittering around the church lately--my word, not his, don't take it out on him, but you have to admit that you used to twitter when you were happy--but that could be due to the perpetual rainmaking you're involved in. I'm glad to hear from Klaus that more children are entering the clergy lately. At least from his point of view. He says there are even a few who have been in it so long they're getting titles before facial hair. Like you did.

When I was staying with you in the Valley, you probably guessed how struck I was by the vibrancy of the church system. I mean, I know the custom well enough, that aristocrats send their non-inheriting sons into the clergy (dragging them by their ears, more often than not) in order to keep the leg up the family has. But your clergy is also your army--well, at least the command staff and elite fighters of your army. So not only families but individuals can benefit from being a part of it. And, of course, it's the only real way to circumvent your caste system (which continues to make very little sense to me, by the way).

So Klaus just seems pleased about the whole deal. I mean, he'd be second-class to you if he wasn't already aristocracy from his country. And when he hears about little dark-haired kids rising to prominent positions in your culture, it's...affirming. It makes people like us feel welcome in your world, and Klaus and I agree. Lord knows your country could use the fresh voice. I hope the new kid is one. Reminds me of the old days, McDohl and Riou and all, except that the only Harmonians who rallied behind those banners were...well, they kind if fell out of the first class, if they were ever there to begin with.

Maybe when all this stuff in the Grasslands is over and done with, I'll be able to visit you again. I'd like that. I left before it got to be wintry by you, and if you're still depressed there's bound to be a snowstorm or two. I'd like to see what snow looks like in the Valley, around the buildings and on the statues. Childish of me, I know, but I imagine the kids get some killer mock-battles going in your streets when it snows. You remember the snow-fight we championed for the trainees when you were staying here? Thanks to you, people actually played on the Harmonian side for once...it's the kid that pretended to be your Aide de Camp that replaced my old Second, you know. Sheridan. He's almost twenty years old now. Still has a good head on his shoulders and throws a mean snowball.

But snow fights in the city must be really different. Instead of building new forts, you get to use the terrain for real, hide behind statues and fountains, and the kids probably run into "civilians" all the time. In the streets, the kids probably have spies and secret passages and teams. It's a different game than Army versus Army. And I know the boys and girls in your Temple have snow fights, but those are closer to ours in Goya, I'm sure. Have you ever seen how the kids in your country that aren't parochial play?

I'm getting this really weird picture of us conducting another snow-war. The Dragon Knights invade Crystal Valley, both sides armed with nothing but snowballs. And maybe the guy who will replace Nash after my old friends and their talking sword kill him will be my "lieutenant". But I'll let you win the snowball fight, of course. It's better for morale that way.

Also, If I ever start talking about the weather to you again, kill me. We're supposed to be more interesting than that.

Keep well!

_-Futch_

-

_Commander Schvarzeleber,_

You will not succeed in killing Our Second Sir Latjke. To run with your apparent metaphor, such an act would require an avalanche. You are too good a man to stir the stones in such a damaging fashion. Do please desist.

Think of our friendship. Think of Our country. Remember your predecessor. We do not wish you to find Us weak.

But We do agree that you should grace Us with your company again, perhaps next winter. We will then accept your challenge to a snow campaign. And we will not require your leniency in letting us win. We shall have, as you call it, the home-court advantage.

_Fondly,_

_Sasarai I_

-

_Sasarai-_

This is an official apology. It's also an unofficial slap on the back and commendation for being so goddamned devious. Wish I'd thought of it. Wish even more that I'd seen it coming, of course, but that's neither here nor there.

So Hugo wasn't killed in the Grasslands. The legend of the Flame Champion lives on. There's no body. The people think he's still alive. And Nash, suspicious bastard that he is, probably still knows more than he let on even under duress, and has gotten really hard to kill these last few years.

If I believe Viktor's account of the whole thing, the battle raged uncontested from twilight until Flik's Lightning Rune finally gave out and the sun was shining through the stormclouds. If I believe Flik's account of it, the whole thing was over in half an hour, but those Sindarin ruins'll never be the same again. And the sword...well, it's been keeping quiet for once. I think it's in shock. Vik says it pretty much gave Nash permission to exist. I'd say Vik was just sore about not being able to kill the bastard, but a True Rune's a True Rune and who knows better than you and I that those things have their own reasons for what they do?

What's Nash told you?

I apologized to Vik and Flik as well. Flik especially. He's almost eighty years old now--not even Maximillian was that old when he and Sancho were helping us out. So I told Flik, "Honorable beyond belief, Valorous across ages, damned perplexing in how long you've been fighting, True Blue Frightening Lightning Flik of the five thousand and three Liberation Armies most of them consisting solely of Vik and the Sword, I am thoroughly sorry that your last grand adventure was a wild goose chase." And he said, "What 'last grand adventure'?"

I think Vik finally got to him.

But just because we know where Hugo isn't doesn't mean we won't stop trying to find where he is. We'll let the people keep their legend and let you keep your pet vampire. But I've already gone to Plan B. I've kept Vik and the sword occupied long enough. I can always call him back in a century.

Besides, I will be damned if Flik doesn't get in a better adventure than mine before he dies. It's the least I can do.

_-Futch_

-

_Commander Schvarzeleber,_

Your apology is noted and accepted. As your friend, we wish you the best of luck in your quest of information. As your adversary, We can assure you that your luck is more necessary than your apology.

We acknowledge the new contacts you have made among Our people, and the influence exerted by those individuals. We continue to be confident that even your allies of old will prove insufficiently shrewd and ill-equipped to serve you. We also doubt, with staunch reason and precedent, your gall to use your friends for political gain in such a backhanded fashion. We believe you too honorable to take the required measures of indecency and stealth in order to unearth Chief Hugo's mystery.

We pray for your continued prosperity and the well-being of those you hold dear.

_Fondly,_

_Sasarai I_

-

_Sasarai-_

It is Our opinion that you are full of shit, you dirty bastard. We of course knew it all along, but the revelation of the boy-Deacon Orosi as Bearer of the True Fire Rune has done nothing to dispel Our prior notions. "Not at leisure to disclose what little knowledge We possess of his state and whereabouts" my sanctimonious ass.

We pray you rot in Hell when you finally do die.

_-Futch_

-

_Futch,_

You know my ambitions, you know my position, and, as you said, you knew all along that I was up to something and were only waiting for me to tell you. I declined to inform you in writing because of the compromising tendency for written words to worm their way behind the eyes of persons other than the intended. You were always to learn of Chief Hugo's demise when the rest of the world outside his close circle learned of it, which was, in my hopes, never. If the cat was to ever be let out of the bag the situation would have to be suitably dire for the world to learn of it and not act against me or my Divine Father.

Deacon Orosi is a child such as I and my Brother were, and to have revealed his nature to even you before he could support his own state without killing us all would have sure proven catastrophic. You also undoubtedly understand my desire for utmost trepidation in regard to him not turning down my Brother's path when all this is through. Toward that surpassingly favorable end I have done my best to instruct the boy in the complete process inherent of his own fabrication so that he does not fall prey to the lunatic passion to rebel against it.

Yes, I have qualms about it. I have qualms about the entire situation. I thought I would never be compelled to have a hand in creating another purposeless soul like mine. I prayed that no one would have the chance to suffer my Brother's agony. But liken it to how old we are and how old we appear, Futch; just because we are the future does not mean we can see it.

Be angry with me, I deserve it, and mock my formalities all you want. But please understand that all the choices that led to this point, including and especially my secrecy, were thought through and deemed for the greatest possible good. I did not kill Chief Hugo with any malice in my heart. I did not build Orosi around Chief Hugo's rune with a smile on my lips. But better that Rune in Harmonia where I can see it than on the loose in the Grasslands in the arms of a warrior reputed for drawing on the sheer rage in his soul.

I now know more about that which created me than I ever cared to know, and I pity Orosi for having to understand and undertake this hollow existence from birth. I see through my Brother's eyes more now than ever before, and my Rune is not helping me at all by showing me the future my Brother saw. Have you seen it, Futch? The grey world? I am twice as old now as my Brother was when he went mad to these visions and spelled his own death rather than accept them. I can only imagine how powerful they were to a youth of thirty, if at sixty they keep me awake at night, wrapping my own arms in blankets to prevent myself from cutting the Rune out of my hand. Perhaps I am less mad than he. Or perhaps I have only time on my side. Or worse still, I am responsible for creating that barren place. All I am certain of is that I would enact my Divine Father's will and sacrifice the scant sum of love I feel for myself in favor of His plan.

So now you know what has been going on under your nose and between these lines. You made me angry enough at my own formality to dispense with it for purposes of this letter. Was that your intention?

I pray you find it in your heart to forgive me, because I know I will not forgive myself if you do not. Regardless of whether you absolve me, I also pray for your good health and that of your charges.

_With hope,_

_Sasarai I_

-

_Sasarai-_

It is still Our opinion that you are full of shit, but We love you for it. It'll take some time, but since I have a lot of that I'm sure I'll end up forgiving you. Eventually. For now I think I'll just call it an uneasy truce.

I mean, I understand why you did what you did, but for God's sake, Sasarai, that was Hugo. You switched sides in a war for him! And then you barely wait ten years before picking up right where you left off, like the thing with Luc never happened. And in the end, Hugo barely lived past thirty. How did you kill him, Sasarai? How long did you drag it out? Can you just pry a new bearer out of the closet like a pair of boots or does it take nine months to build a shell like you?

...Okay, I'm being angry. But you said you deserved it. That last bit might have gone over the stripe, but I'm not erasing it just so you can get an idea of some of the things I'm starting to think about you after all this.

I'm not so hurt by the not telling me. It's political. It's smart. I'm not even as hurt as I thought I would be by your admitting that Hugo's dead. I mean, you declared a legitimate war of property against him and his people, and you won it, and you took the property as the spoils, and taking it involved killing someone we cared about. What I'm hurt by is that despite all we've been talking about and how much we're both starting to hate this whole immortality and responsibility thing, you helped make another one like you for that express purpose. There's now another child in this world who will live without respect for his own mortality. You don't. You don't think of your body as yours. Luc didn't either. Orosi won't. And what's worse is that he'll never be able to believe that he was created out of love.

Maybe that sort of thing works for Men of God like you. Maybe part of the reason you don't crave the kind of love that I craved--yeah, note the past tense--is that you weren't created with it in mind. And with you watching him, Orosi will likely turn out like you, and won't try to pull what Luc pulled...but then, children have this annoying tendency to rebel against their parents. And sometimes, like with Sharon, both the parent and the kid die a little for it. Scratch that--they die a lot for it.

I'm sure I'll be able to forgive you by the next letter. That means you have to write back if you actually care what I think.

_-Futch_

---

-IS 506-

_Futch,_

I care what you think of me. I really do. And I thank you for even considering forgiving me. I apologize for angering you. However, I see no means by which to undo what I have done, and so will endeavor only to not repeat this slight.

But I am moved to wonder; why did you not send aid to Chief Hugo, if you were so concerned? Your own letters make clear your knowledge of the conflict and your loyalties with regard to the competitors. Surely I cannot be the only reason for your nonintervention. Indeed, in every conflict yours and mine have shared, I have spent more time as your target than your ally. Why not that fight? Your part in a victory in the Grasslands might well have bolstered your position with those allies. I know that Goya is historically isolationist, save in times of great need, but you've disrupted many a precedent in your life.

A truth for a truth, friend. Indulge me in that question, and I shall shed light on any of yours, within reason.

I pray that I remain in your heart, and for the health and well-being of your charges.

_With cautious fondness,_

_Sasarai I_

-

_Sasarai-_

Truth for truth? That's the game you're playing now? I drop the bag of potch, you send the hostage walking? What do you take me for?

I'll tell you anyway. You're in no way bound to tell me anything after.

She didn't give up for the reasons you think she gave up. Or, well, she may have, but she certainly didn't give up just because she couldn't handle the grief. It went something like this--

Arkady and Sharon got killed on the seas trying to deal with the granddaddy of all Leviathans. That you know. Kooluk paid us to deal with that and we dealt with that. That you know too. And we defeated the bastard. Milia gets the news and sinks into a depression. That you at least guessed.

But the Dragon Rune works just like yours. The same way you wither trees when you think about Luc too much, whoever's got this Rune has to be stable or the dragons get weak, or worse, tank it. Milia heard the report and Thrash just keeled over underneath her. Dragons all over the place just up and left us, faded into their world or got sick, and the weakest ones died. We lost use of ten percent of our Knights in a day because the dragons couldn't take it.

So her sacrifice was nobler than you thought it was. She knew that she'd made a mistake and that her sadness would weaken the forces if she kept it up. The answer was, of course, to get happy, but the death of her husband and her child wasn't something she could fool herself into thinking was okay. So she gave me the rune. And she died...well, when Thrash fell, she fell with him, and he crushed a few of her ribs. We could have saved her, she could even have fought again after a few months of healing, but she gave up instead. When you have an entire race of beings relying on your sanity to exist, and you use this race as your principle combat force, you kind of want to stay sane. And as it was, I got left with patching things up. We lost half of our power by the end--about a fifth died, and everyone was weak.

That's why I couldn't help Hugo. You would have found out that we were weak and come after us next. Now that we're strong enough to stand against you, you won't, but you would have then, I know you. And one of my friends would probably have gone the way of old Joe--hell, maybe it would have been Edge, if he'd been here, he's idealistic and crazy enough to die for me--and then you would have done what you did to Hugo to me. Or I would have killed you. I don't want to think about it. I think you understand.

Believe me, I'm beating the crap out of myself for not helping now. I could have done something, sent someone, if I was smarter about it and trusted you less.

If you still feel obligated, turns out I do have a question.

How did you kill him? For the love of God, tell me, so that I stop getting ideas.

_-Futch_

-

_Futch,_

Is it truly your desire to know how we killed Chief Hugo?

I only ask because I am sure that I would rather remain ignorant of such details, were I in your position. It seems to me folly, really, to ask a man of ritual as myself to divulge the itinerary of a systematic and deliberate ending-of-life, how many steps and of what kind, how many hours, as if I was a surgeon. Do you not sense the perversity inherent of such an interrogation?

If you so inquire, I mean to reiterate the act in immaculate detail, if only to instill in you the feelings of inevitability and despair that haunted me throughout the ordeal. For it was an ordeal, Futch, and not for the victim alone. In fact, I will venture that Chief Hugo was in the best position of all involved, as he was the least aware of the proceedings and by far the least active.

I will tell you only if you give the word, and I will spare you nothing. Do understand that your sentiments hereafter are on your head alone.

We pray for your continued prosperity and the well-being of those you hold dear.

_Fondly,_

_Sasarai I_

-

_Sasarai-_

I can take it.

_-Futch_

-

_Futch,_

Well then.

We took him alive. After Sergeant Jordi's last stand at the fore of Great Hollow, we pursued Chief Hugo and those that remained with him through the subterranean route connecting the Hollow to the Vale of the Ducks. It became a matter of intercepting him, which We did with the aid of Sir Latjke. He and his succeeded in cutting off Chief Hugo's passage to the Vale of the Ducks, and with Our unit closing in from the west Chief Hugo could only move into the Ruins where, as you'll recall, the bearer of True Water met his demise at the hands of Our Brother. The irony was not lost on Sir Latjke, who informed me of this afterward, when our units reconvened.

Chief Hugo was never the type to surrender. He knew full well what Our proximity to him entailed; that his Second was dead, his lands were Ours, and his life lay either in the hands of the enemy, of himself, or of the True Fire Rune. We knew this, and we knew the risk, and so approached him Ourself, alone but for Sir Latjke in the shadows. And after a few words--words, mind you, not blows--Chief Hugo chose to surrender to neither Us nor the Rune.

We were more powerful than he, even in his rage. We bested him, though We were not alone. We were not speaking falsely when we said, years ago, that he gave Us trouble, and in the end We required the intervention of Sir Latjke. For all We know, Chief Hugo is not aware that he lost to Us, nor that the duel was cut short.

We returned to Crystal Valley with Chief Hugo unconscious the whole while. Along the way, Sir Latjke began his part of this ordeal in earnest, and gradually drained Chief Hugo's blood. I believe he keeps it in crystal carafes and bottles. He has taken to doing that with his more relevant conquests.

The procedure is something akin to systematic rationing. Imagine that you feed your horse a bale of hay a day, and that a bale constitutes five thousand straws. Imagine the next day, giving your horse four thousand ninety nine straws, and four thousand ninety eight the next, and so forth. In the end, the beast's stomachs will not remember portions much larger than a handful. By the time we arrived in Our Valley little more than a pint flowed through Chief Hugo's heart, and he was still technically alive.

Once safely ensconced in Our palace, Sir Latjke could go about his task with deeper regard for the outcome. You see, the objective was to goad True Fire into selecting another bearer upon learning that its master was dead. Of course, since the True Fire Rune has a precedent of, as you so creatively put it, "eating the clouds like cupcakes" when its bearer is threatened, We were forced to drag the death out over the course of what amounted to thirty-eight days, nine hours, and fifty minutes.

During this time, using organic materials from the body of Cardinal Dios Eizal, who Chief Hugo himself had wounded, We enacted the cloning ritual and built the child Orosi. Hence, your accusation that he was not created with love is offensive. This process alone We will not detail to you, as it is sacred. Sir Latjke killed Hugo, and, blessedly, the Rune was docile. We, with the gracious aid of Sir Latjke's wife, guided the True Fire Rune to select Orosi as its new master, and it accepted.

We surreptitiously sent Chief Hugo's effects to his mother in Gregminster, and asked what she would have done with the body. As per her request, We sent the corpse to the Vale of the Ducks. We do not know what they did with it, nor why they have not revealed his death to the populace. We suspect that they would rather create the legend you learned of than incite a riot. We believe this is wise. After all, something similar was done with Chief Hugo's predecessor Taiji, was it not?

We hope that this suffices.

_Fondly,_

_Sasarai I_

-

_Sasarai-_

I don't think I'm speaking to you for the next decade or so.

_-Futch_

---


	4. IS 520 to IS 521

_-IS 520-_

_S-_

Geddoe asked where you were. I think he's going to kill you.

_-F_

-

_Commander Schvarzeleber-_

Thank you. It will not work.

_-Sasarai I_

-

_S-_

Congrats on managing to fend him off. What got him so angry this time? He didn't say a word when I asked before the fact, which is par for the course.

Also, I heard about your fingers. I'm sorry. Do you think you'll be able to use them again? What exactly happened? Seriously, feel better, and if I can lend you a hand with (almost) anything, let me know.

_-F_

-

_Commander Schvarzeleber-_

I thank you for your good will. My hand is recovering some, but, alas, I doubt I shall ever be able to remove the signet ring. The last three fingers are functioning as one, due to the scarring and the fusion of the metal to my joints, and the entire area is an unpleasant, bracken color. It feels, and is, rather peculiar that I shall seal this letter with physical, rather than emotional, difficulty. At least I have the assurance that my life, and our correspondence thereof, will endure for sufficient time as to overcome this impediment.

However, certain parties have attached epithets to my person that, like the wound, will never fully remove themselves. Sir Latjke has taken to calling me His Eminence of the Scorched Earth. Nearly everyone else merely uses "the Miner." I find it rather funny.

What occurred is easy enough to imagine. As Geddoe remains a part of Our Southern Frontier Defense Force, We have records of his unit's transactions in the field. Years ago when his unit took on the archer, and subsequently the Karayan girl, they spent more, and on certain items that alerted us to the nature of those beneficiaries; for the archer's employ, the accountant suddenly began reporting expenditures on long-distance weaponry, as for the Karayan girl, and for that girl's indenture there was also the matter of acquiring feminine attire. We also have records of where these transactions are made and who with, though Ace has certainly performed his share of "creative accounting" in his time. Ace's replacement in the unit is of a more honest stock.

Using this information, We have, as We will give you credit to have guessed, been monitoring Geddoe and his affairs. Among the things We deduced in this manner was his unit's losses of certain members to age, and the acquisition of new fighters, unregistered with the Southern Defense Force. Over time, there was a record of extensive time spent in the study of magic, unnecessary and rudimentary for a man of Geddoe's power. Sir Latjke investigated the matter for Us, and discovered that Geddoe was grooming his replacement as vessel for the True Lightning Rune. Our Divine Father would not have this, and orders were dispatched for Sir Latjke to prevent this transaction. He did. Why Geddoe chose to come after me, I am uncertain.

Rather than set up a ruse to attract me to a place of his choosing, he simply waited for me to be engrossed and vulnerable in the One Temple. We had been on Our guard since your letter, but I am a private creature at times, and did not suspect even Geddoe to be so capable nor callous as to lie in wait for me at the sacred library. He came alone, and as he is not the type to enact a desperate, single-chance maneuver, managed to shut me in to the room in question. The actual details of the attack and the single accusation made during it are inconsequential. We managed to detain him and protect Our person for sufficient time for Our guard to gain access to the room and come to Our aid. However, after having been struck so powerfully by his initial attack, I would have been unable to do more. Upon the arrival of Our guard, he successfully resisted arrest, and it is my belief that he subsequently escaped Crystal Valley, as neither he was never apprehended nor his body found.

Perhaps his accusations are not inconsequential. He called me "murderer." He may have been unable to separate my commands and intentions from Our Divine Father's mission. Geddoe's wrath, upon reflection, is justifiable, and his attempt on Our person is at least as appropriate as Ours on his second. If he interpreted Sir Latjke's removal of the protégé in question as an attack on his person, Geddoe's retaliation may have used me as a similar substitute for Our Divine Father.

Or perhaps I am vain to assume so.

Or perhaps he simply hates me. I generally fail to understand that man.

The wound is a casualty of his first strike. I perceived my predicament in time and raised my hand to shield the magic. My instincts...well, they saved my life, but the laws of science and magic dictated that his lightning would converge on the most conductive object borne by those targeted. I am thankful to have raised my left rather than right hand; to have had my casting hand and Guardian Ring crippled would have ensured Geddoe's victory and spelt my death, not to mention the loss of Our Rune.

His other attempts on my life have been almost half-hearted in comparison, if indeed they were his. I was unable to coax even a vengeful admonition out of him. Granted, I lacked the time for words that were not arcane, and he is not one to issue intelligible noises during combat. By the time my guards arrived on the scene, all hope of a clue as to Geddoe's motivation was lost to speculation and secrecy.

Were it not for your advance warning, I would not have strengthened and alerted my guards to a sufficient degree, and it is likely that aid may not have reached me in time. I thank you deeply. I am sure you understand.

This is a touch poetic, but I just stared at my hand for ten minutes and did naught else, moving the two remaining functional fingers and observing the deadness of the rest. I lack the skill to draw it for you, and I doubt a portraiter will construct a likeness on such short notice, if it disheartens and fascinates me so to look upon it. I think, perhaps, I shall continue to use the hand and the ring embedded in it; it seems the true purpose of a limb so maimed, to be used as a permanent conduit for the sigil atop it. It is a "hand of office" if you will--Sir Latjke's tongue, again--but so dreadfully ugly.

I just stared at it another long moment. Perhaps I should have a glove made. But then, I would have to remove it for all official functions, so what would be the point?

Have you ever been wounded in such a way, Futch? Rather, what do you do with your wounds? Do you dwell on them as I, of do you refuse to let them change you beyond the smoothness of your skin and the strength of the nerves beneath? No doubt you have suffered in your years of warfare, as I, and likely more in your indenture to the lower ranks, and still likelier due to your particular mounts. But I have neither seen nor heard you brood over a scar as I now am.

I wonder if Geddoe knows. It is almost certain--after all, the world knows. I am now Sasarai the Miner, Black-Handed, marked apart from Our Divine Father and Our younger kin by his trophy of imperfection.

I wonder if perhaps Geddoe reflected similarly on the loss of his eye. I wonder who took it.

Once again, We thank you for the blessing of your friendship and correspondence. Writing to you proves positively dolorifugic, as ever, and We pray for your health and safety.

_Fondly,_

_Sasarai I "the Miner"_

-

_Sasarai-_

I am so sorry. I'm glad I decided to write to you at last.

I did mean to write you earlier--and I did, actually, just didn't send it--but I suspect that what happened to me was also happening to you. I forgave you, somewhere down the line, but I got used to not writing you and not hearing from you and besides, I thought you hadn't forgiven me for going behind your back.

It's a funny story, actually. I didn't mean to. I did ask Klaus about the kid, Orosi, and he wrote back that the boy was the spitting image of you. I remembered Luc and got shocked enough that I looked it, and Slate was curious. I didn't tell her anything and just wrote back to Klaus as normal, but Slate's a smart bird. She asked what would have gotten me shocked, and Klaus showed her a picture of the True Fire Rune. And then Slate went out and shat on Orosi's glove while he was playing in the garden.

Klaus told me everything. I'm sure he actually had to ask Slate to do that, but the point remains that I didn't ask for the knowledge. If I could have found out without blindsiding you, believe me I would have. But once I found out I couldn't ignore it.

I can't believe it's taken me fifteen years to say I'm sorry. And I know you are, so you don't have to say anything. I'm the one who did wrong in going behind your back. Even if I didn't directly mean to.

I feel really cheap for blaming a bird. She missed you, you know. She said she told you so.

Things have been going on here as ever. I'm in the process of choosing which of my knights to send down to the Islands to help chop through yet another of Albert Silverberg's webs. By all that's holy to you, Sasarai, how can you stand by and let him and that bowler-wearing one-demon-army do everything they've been doing? I know you know about it. As usual, you probably know more than I do.

Whatever. The answer is probably you're helping him. Looks like we're on opposite sides of a war again. It means that these letters are going back underground, but I don't want to lose you again, especially not to my own stupidity.

I should answer your question before I forget to. I've never been wounded in the way you described. I've had my share of burns and scrapes and scratches, but nothing that's made me navel-gaze. Like you suggested, it might be because of how many of them I've had and how often I fight. And I haven't always been this vain. That took time.

About that, actually. I haven't been wounded since becoming the Captain. So I've had all this time to learn what I look like and I know my body really well. Maybe I'd get sentimental over scars now, since I'd have to re-learn myself. And that might be what's really up in your corner, since you've looked pretty much the same for at least half a century, probably more.

So tell me, first--are you aiding that mass-murdering, backhanded, twisted excuse for a Silverberg? Second, if you are, how are we going to continue this correspondence? Because, seriously, if he finds out and I find out that he's found out there is going to he Hell to pay. And third...if the answer ends up being that we have to stop this until he dies, would you mind if I killed him?

Take care. Please. Stop staring at your hand and smile, damn it. I can't imagine what the weather in the Valley's been like if you're that depressed.

_-Futch_

---

_-IS 521-_

_Futch,_

Are you forgiving Us or condemning Us? We have ceased to be able to tell.

In either case, We forgave you long ago. But, as your last admonition to us was along the lines of your having taken control of the reinitiation of our friendship, We shall take it with a measure of salt; more than a grain, but a fair sum less than a shaker.

We are, in fact, aiding that "mass-murdering, backhanded, twisted excuse for a Silverberg," as Gregory Harras no doubt has made clear to you by now. And that truth raises concerns with Us, regarding you, and Us, and this epistolary.

It is as the bards would have it, and have had it in the past; you and We are ever on opposite sides of the wars that arise, and yet, are friends. We are driven to correspond, yet must remain closed off for the sake of others we hold dear, and we similarly stand in each others' ways. There is no way we can both attain our worldly desires as long as the other still lives--and yet, we cling to each other for causes far deeper than that to which our positions have resigned us.

We take into account the joy that flooded Our heart upon receiving your letter, after that void within Us had assimilated itself, and We had ceased to hope that Slate would ever rap her little beak into Our window and wax snide at Us for some past or present or imagined slight. Perhaps that happiness is the same, or even less, than the euphorias of years and letters past, but its relative wonder to the melancholy We now find Ourself in is staggering. It is a jolt, even, a numbing power akin to a Rune's, the fast-addictive kind.

Though Our heart is heavy, We move that in light of temporal, spiritual, and political concerns, that we continue this correspondence with utmost trepidation. To keep these letters regular is a danger to our positions, persons, and--as evidenced--provisions. It is with great difficulty that We move that we no longer attempt to convey our mundane lives, that we sacrifice the possibility of extended happiness in favor of ensuring that we will never tire of nor grow reliant upon each other. Our attachment could easily prove as dangerous to one in Our position as the bond to a wife or child. It has shown signs of approaching that fate.

We pray for your acceptance of this motion. And yet, no, at the same time We implore the heavens that you will not dismiss Us. We do not know what to think.

_Fondly,_

_Sasarai I_

-

_Sasarai,_

Don't you fucking dare.

I spent fifteen years working up the courage to forgive you. You are probably going to be the last person in this world I'm allowed to actually connect to, and you want to limit that? In case you can't tell, we're both stuck where we are and how we are, on top of our goddamned tenths of the known world, but in the end, we are all we actually have. And you're all for getting rid of that? You goddamned ascetic.

Okay, I had to ask Slate for that word.

I wouldn't be this angry if I didn't know you were serious, though. And also right. But I don't want you to be right about it being better for us to not be close. Because it is. It's better for everyone except us. Well, it might even be better for us. In the same way that sitting on your ass instead of flying is.

I'm sorry, my dear friend, but I'm really not inclined to comply with your request. I want to keep writing you and hearing from you and poking fun at the fact that you're a lightweight drama queen for as long as we're both breathing and sentient.

But the real problem is that, as much as I love this whole star-crossed thing, you're right. I want to know you're happy, but I don't want to know you're happy because your pet vampire killed another of my friends, or that that asshole redhead in the Islands gave you a repeat-customer discount. I can console myself with knowing that you aren't your deeds and you aren't your country and you aren't your dad's quest to blanket the world in fog and policy...but to some extent, I'd be lying.

I expect I'll hear from you, sometime not tomorrow. But I will hear from you, and you'll make it matter, I know you. And I'll try to miss you less, because it's better for things that aren't me either, the same way you aren't your wars. There's going to come a point, though, where I'll have to be selfish or I'll go insane. You too, I wager.

Take care, my friend. See you when I see you.

_-Futch_

---


	5. IS 530 to IS 536

---

_-IS 530-_

_Commander Schvarzeleber,_

I have not forgotten you.

_-Sasarai_

-

_S-_

I know.

_-Futch_

---

_-IS 533-_

_Commander Schvarzeleber,_

I have not forgotten you.

_-Sasarai_

-

_S-_

It's mutual, you know. And I still think of you in a favorable manner, even though you're cooperating with that bastard.

_-the Enemy Commander_

-

_Commander Schvarzeleber,_

And I you, despite your position at the forefront of this senseless resistance. Whatever happened to Goyan isolationism?

-_Sasarai I_

-

_S-_

It died with Hugo.

_-the Enemy Commander_

-

_Enemy Commander-_

That was thoroughly unnecessary.

By the by, I suggest you appoint a new Third. I do not think Orosi shall be releasing your current one any time soon. Besides, isn't his rank to be rescinded after the loss of his mount?

_-Black-Square Bishop under the White King_

-

_BSB-_

Tell the Great White Turncoat to say goodbye to his flagship.

_-Queen's Knight on Black, even though Black's been dead seventy years_

-

_Queen's Knight-_

How do the words of that threat taste?

_-Black-Square Bishop_

-

_BSB-_

Like your fifth shot of peach schnapps, lightweight.

_-Queen's Knight_

-

_Queen's Knight-_

This is fast becoming rather trite, don't you think?

_-Lightweight_

-

_Lightweight-_

You have a point.

By the way, your birds have gotten rather tight-beaked as to your location. This makes sense, given where I've deduced you to be, but I suggest you get anyone you care about as far away from Orosi as possible. While you're at it, get everyone I care about away from him too. Including you. Especially you.

Yeah, I know, I wouldn't dare. But A, this has nothing to do with the war, and B, I'm not Geddoe, and he'd dare.

_-Futch_

---

_-IS 534-_

_Commander Schvarzeleber-_

I would say, 'let him try', but the remains of my left hand would refuse to seal such a missive.

_-"The Miner"_

-

_Miner-_

Good choice.

You could betray him, you know. In fact, I'm suggesting that you do, for reasons that aren't entirely self-serving.

_-Futch_

-

_Commander Schvarzeleber-_

After all of the comments you have made to the effect of despising Lord Silverberg for his betrayals of yore, I am inclined to believe that you would think less of me were I to abandon him, even for your sake. The answer is an emphatic no, for reasons that are, likewise, not entirely self-serving.

Also, if you are still in contact with Geddoe, warn him that he will have to go through me again if he desires the chance to kill my son. If that does not deter him sufficiently, well, so much the better for Our Divine Father's plan.

_-Sasarai I_

-

_S-_

Two things. One, I didn't hate you for stepping aside from Harmonia to fight against your brother. I wouldn't hate you now if you pulled out of the Islands and let this goddamn war end.

Two, I despise that piece-of-shit Silverberg because I believe his murder-toll is about to cross into the hundred-millions. The fact that he's a smug, self-promoting asshole, a demon-calling witch, and a traitor only makes it easier.

_-Futch_

-

_Commander Schvarzeleber-_

There are too many old men in this world, it would seem. There are those of us who do not die, and those of us who will not die, and those of us who cannot die. Among those old men, there are many of whom it can be said that they have never lived, and a few for whom having never lived is the best thing possible for the world. There are men who, though they breathe and eat and hatch their manifold schemes, do not matter for the hair in their noses. There are men who, when they are gone, will be forgotten.

Then there are those who have both lived and died, and remain with us after they have gone back to the earth. These are the missing in action, the willed-animate. Chief Hugo is one of these, through no fault of his own, just as his predecessor. In a way, Lord McDohl is also as these. People speak of them in the present tense despite the generations that have passed since one could stand in their shadows or feel their breath as they spoke. They live beyond death in the truest sense possible.

Lord Silverberg will be neither of these, no matter your efforts, Futch. He will live, and he will die, and people will rejoice when he is definitively gone and speak of him in the past tense. They will dance jigs around his corpse, if they ever find it, if there is a corpse to be had. But no matter when, how, if you kill him, he will have lived, and he will continue to act despite being emphatically dead.

For your own safety, do not be the hand to strike him down. For the safety of your country, do not send a hand to strike him down. I will be so bold as to say that for the safety of future generations, let no man strike him down. He is a creature of limited concerns; himself, his family as an extension of himself, and his posterity. You can trust him to quell the bloodshed when any of these cease to be served by it. The more heed you pay him, the more his causes are served.

And I do not lie; I have reason to believe that he does, in fact, have a means of acting after his death that goes beyond the words he will leave his scions. You are always so kind to remind me that he has as the most powerful of his acolytes a certain demon. Permit me to remind you that this demon is like us, and does not, or will not, or cannot die. I do not presume that he will continue to obey Lord Silverberg's express will after the man has ceased to breathe--having been present among their manner of cooperation--but the man's ways have left their mark on the demon's _modus operandi_. I will not be so pedantic as to expound upon how perilous that already is.

Take heed, Commander Schvarzeleber, of those casualties already inflicted on you by this man. Win your war--he will permit that--and lose your men--he will ensure that--but do not strike him down. He will welcome that. It is what he has been waiting for nearly all his life.

In a way, I am betraying him by aiding him to this degree. Were I truly his man, I would be begging you to send your most capable, yourself even, to hack his graying pate to ribbons. I would be giving you imperatives and directions and even an escape plan if one existed, but I care too much for you and yours to risk you dying in ignorant compliance with his wishes.

We pray for your sound judgment and the well-being of those you hold dear.

_-Sasarai I_

-

_Lightweight-_

That really doesn't sound like saving my life. It's kind of scary, actually, how little it sounds like saving my life. But if you were really planning on having me killed, you wouldn't have sent a letter in that condition.

Consider your advice taken for the time being. I'll warn you in a year or so if things change.

_-Futch_

---

_-IS 535-_

_Commander Schvarzeleber-_

I would think it well of you to learn patience sometime this century. It will be useful down the line.

_-Sasarai I_

-

_S-_

I know patience. It's just that when I see someone about to blow up an island and kill another twenty thousand people, give or take a homestead, my protective instincts kick in and I can't help but want to run the bastard through.

You're going to tell me that either way, I will be complying with him. I let him kill people, he gets what he wants. I hack him down lengthwise, flash-fry the pieces, and let Bright eat him, and he still gets what he wants. Is there any way for him to not get what he wants?

_-Futch_

-

_Commander Schvarzeleber-_

At this point? No.

_-Sasarai I_

---

_-IS 536-_

_S-_

I've given him a year. I've given him more, actually. It was fall when I told you I'd lay off for a bit, and another fall happened, and now it's spring. Almost summer. At least up here. You're still down in the islands, and I hear the weather sucks.

My companies are complaining about storms, which is a given, and about leviathans, but even if those weren't a given we expected them and prepared for them. We're also still good to deal with the battles and intrigue and politicking, and the assassination attempts and the searching and the recovering of stolen artifacts. We didn't expect the rivers of blood and the disappearing islands and the paperwork, but we've gotten used to it. And we're as prepared as we can be to keep burying our dead at sea.

But we're sick of it. Not just the royal we, like you've stopped using around me, but the we that I represent by being part of this alliance. We the Coalition of the Honorable. The Dragon Knights of Goya, the Free Knights of Kamaro, the Knights of Gaien and of Razril, the Order of the Sun, Kanakan, the Republic, the half of the Island Federation that consists of decent human beings, and all the cultures you've subjugated. We are prepared to keep fighting until that witch and his demon give us a reason to stop. And that apparently means we'll keep throwing ourselves under his carpet so he can stand on our faces and poke us to death with his cane.

You have one more chance to persuade me not to kill him.

_-Futch_

-

_Commander Schvarzeleber,_

I have not forgotten you.

_-Sasarai_

-

---


	6. IS 540

_-IS 540-_

_Commander Schvarzeleber,_

He has gone into hiding. For all intents and purposes barring your ruining everything, he is dead. As it was never really safe to have this epistolary extant in the first place, I cannot lie and assert that it is so now, but I am confident that our reinstating correspondence will no longer pose an explicit risk to either of our countries at this point.

I miss you, friend.

I saw you, you know. You might know. At the first attempt at negotiations. I wasn't supposed to be there either, I will not begrudge your not revealing yourself and hiding yourself in your own ranks. I did the same. There is a certain convenience to Orosi that we mean to exploit as the years go on, you see. He did not fool Geddoe, for which my face is very thankful, but he has fooled several others, and the distinctions between us will only blur with time and practice to everyone but you.

The world we knew is dead, Futch. I am certain that I have had a part in killing it.

Because of the scars that Geddoe left on Orosi's person, Orosi and I have discussed taking to ceremonial masks, as Our Divine Father has long done. While the convenience of the idea resonates within me in a pleasant fashion, I cannot help but take ill at the idea. Nay, trees no longer wither in my path at the thought, but the grass crunches under my feet and it is always winter. Always, always winter. Always dry and what passes for a spring these years is fleeting and grey.

You have seen the grey world, Futch, you know what I fear...but I sense that the more I fear it the nearer it creeps. What I feel...has power unbidden, you know as much as I, and no amount of divine inspiration will lend me the words to articulate the degree to which my own apprehensions have driven me to despair. I can only tell you what falls in my wake, Futch, the death of my students to old age, the barren, cold-grounded gardens, the throbbing in what is left of my left hand whenever I hear thunder overhead--have you any idea how taxing it was, campaigning in Iluya, even before Geddoe caught up with our entourage? Twixt fighting a war and having lost your faith in me I am surprised that Lord Silverberg did not let his demon loose on me and take Our Rune for his.

There were nights when I would have let him have it, and welcome, if just to be dead. My body has never been mine, and now here I am, becoming my rituals. Those who serve me are marking their left hands and leaving their rights ungloved. There have been sixty plays and lord knows how many ballads writ about my brother and our story, though the hard facts of what incited the quarrel are known to few, and half as many about the second Grassland incident and Orosi. Every day is a struggle to live up to myself at the same time as defy the poets, to retain what little autonomy I possess.

I am losing my mind.

Come to Harmonia, Futch. Before I put on one of those saprogenic heaven-forsaken masks, come to Harmonia.

We pray for your continued prosperity and the health and well-being of those you hold dear, and that We are included in that number.

_-Sasarai_

-

_Sasarai-_

I am standing about sixty miles outside the Valley. Standing, not sitting. They won't let me sit.

I'm stuck only because the gryphon-riders threatened to blast me and Bright out of the sky if we didn't comply. They said it would be considered an act of war if I entered the Holy Harmonian Empire on the back of a dragon. I told them I'd fly dangling from his talons if I had to. They weren't amused. You need to hire border guards with senses of humor. Or not. I commend your security measures, just not as they relate to me.

Of course I can't rightly tell them that I'm the Archbishop's knight in shining armor--which reminds me, when in the Hell did you become an Archbishop?--so I'm hanging around here with my gloves on trying to secure sleeping arrangements for the night that don't involve me freezing my ass off. You're right about the weather.

I guess it serves me right for not setting up a whole ordeal and a visit of state and all that, but I didn't think that was what you meant when you told me to come to Harmonia. I've flown for two days since getting your letter, wasn't sure when you sent it.

Let Slate crash if you have to, she'll be able to tell her brother where to find me.

_-Futch_

-

_To Dragon Knight Errant-_

Show Our guards the seal on this letter and take their names. Following that, do whatever else you require. We pray for your safe journey and that you find Our country hospitable.

-

_Lightweight-_

This is one of those, "If you are reading this I've stolen away for fear of my life" notes. And it's a message-in-a-bottle. Now, usually the person who is lost sends them, not the rescuer, but I figured it's the one place where you'd look and Orosi wouldn't.

For the record, no, you didn't get drunk and imagine that I showed up, I actually showed up and then you got drunk. You passed out at about sunrise. Someone's going to come and wake you up soon. Whatever it is, I hope you rest instead of going. By the time I thought to ask you what you were trying to forget, you were too sloshed to answer.

I'd forgotten how small you could be. You probably know what I mean, but when you're speaking for your army and your ideals and Your Divine Father you're really quite large. And it's not the hat that does it to you either. I'm sure you know what I mean, if I do, and I'm not the smart one. It was true fifty years ago and it's true now too, your arms are too small to reach what you're clamoring for.

It's true for me too. I think you know that now. I've got hundreds of powerful things at my back and I'm weaker than you. You live on despite the things that haunt you and drain you, and by live on I don't just mean "continue to listen to that thing in your hand". You actually live and teach and yes, you also muster armies against defenseless island chains, but you're up and doing what your heart tells you is right despite all the stormclouds in your head.

And about those stormclouds--maybe if you smiled once in a while, your country wouldn't have to import so much grain and could lower the taxes. Maybe I shouldn't say it, but it has a chance of making you laugh that I'm willing to take. It's so bright this morning, on the other side of that haze. It's hangover weather now, really--it remembered what a good night it had but was still foggy and wistful. I was never really aware of just how much your emotions were tied to your Rune, even though I have the same problem...it really is humbling, and now that I know another way to keep tabs on you damned if I won't be reading between your lines.

When you showed me the mask I wanted to burn it. I still do. But I understand why you're taking it up, and I won't stop you if you decide to bend to that. How could I? Hell, maybe I should be flattered that pretty soon I'll be one of very few people alive to have seen your face.

This may be my own hangover talking, but I actually think your face only comes out when you're asleep. Even when you're drunk there's an agenda in your eyes. "Tell me I exist," you said. "Tell me I am." I did. This is in case you didn't believe me.

You are, Sasarai. I think by asking that question you proved it. And while I've enjoyed the company of my share of dreams and delusions and other things that aren't real, you're none of them. You're a living, breathing, feeling person and once you get that into your head it'll kick your hangover's ass.

I'm going to seal this thing up before someone tries to wake you. See you when I see you.

_-Futch_

-

_Futch-_

It will be a long time before anyone sees me.

I thank you, my friend, for your visit and kind words in my time of need, from the bottom of my heart. The mask will cover a visage broken and marred, but not quite destroyed.

_-Sasarai_

-


	7. IS 544 to IS 547

-IS 544-

_Lightweight- _

Holy shit, you're a century old.

Enjoy the wine--just don't drink it all at once.

_-F _

-

_Futch- _

You just had to go and remind me, didn't you?

I have dreaded this day since my fiftieth, you realize. Nothing is different and nothing in my life is worth celebrating. I should never have been created.

But thank you for the wine. It made writing this letter a good deal easier.

_-Sasarai _

-

_S- _

You're just begging for me to abduct you and spend hours upon hours coming up with new ways to flatter you in five or six different languages.

_-F _

-

_F- _

I'll settle for four.

_-S _

-

_S- _

Spoiled brat.

_-F _

-

-IS 545-

_F- _

Please forgive me. I would do well not to prey on your sensibilities in such a fashion, bacchi plenus or no. Take the sentiment of those letters with as much salt as warrants its dissolution and allow us to resume our discussion of the weather.

The humor of the earth and skies has been really eclectic this Turning season. One day, snow, the next it may as well be spring. The ground never truly thaws, and I strongly suspect there is snow from four months ago standing indomitable against whatever powers of the heavens would have it destroyed, but that sheet of ice is as the commander to his kerns, living as the new flakes shield him with their lives. Little by little, as the snow over it melts, the dense, encumbered snow closest to the ground is slathered in fresh tears, and those tears freeze, enhancing the earth's armor but further estranging it from that which it perhaps had been.

This is the same old song, is it not?

In truth, thank you for the wine. Perhaps my imbibement was overzealous and the resultant notes thoughtless, but the thanks was--is--heartfelt.

The demand--and I will consider it a demand, as threatening as the request must have come across--was not. I should not allow myself to consider requiring you, or impose on you to stop your life for me. What happened the night I took up the mask should remain the singular event it was, lest it be cheapened. You said as much years ago, that you would have our friendship remain a source of surprise and happiness, immune to the strain of time by virtue of transcending it. Therefore I rescind my implicit agenda for your time and attention, save in returning your kind gesture of congratulations on my hundredth name-day.

Please accept this apology, and I pray for your health and well-being.

_-S _

-

_from Commander Futch Schvarzeleber of the Dragon Knights of Goya  
to His Eminence the Bishop Orosi II of the Holy Harmonian Empire and Governor-in-Absentiam of Razril _

Good day. Thanks for not torching this the instant you read the heading.

Look, I know you're a busy man, and you don't like me very much, and you have something in your possession that could make my life a living Hell. Now that that's out of the way, let's shove it under the table and kick it a few times.

We both love your father a great deal. You probably didn't know that about me. I'll give you the short version: Once upon a time we were enemies, and then Fate stuck us on the same side of a war for all of two major battles and an infiltration. Then my friends beat the crap out of a few bad guys and the war ended and, so your father and I went our separate ways. He wrote me a letter about fifty years ago--just before your were born--and I wrote back, and stuff happened, and now we can't bring ourselves to stop writing. To put it bluntly, he's become one of the best friends I could ever hope to have, and damned if he isn't my best friend still living. Except Bright--my dragon--but Bright doesn't really count.

That said, I want your father to stay living. I'm sure you do too. (If I didn't sense you did I would have killed you back in the Island wars, and believe me, I had the chance.) So we've got the same goal in mind--we should help each other help him, right?

Your mission, should you choose to believe me, is as follows:

Step one: Get Sasarai the Hell out of that mask you convinced him to put on. I'm sorry, but if you're trying to figure out how to thaw out Your Divine Grandpa's rhubarb plants, this is a step in the right direction.

Step two: Get Sasarai the Hell out of that palace. I'm sure you'll have a more creative idea about how to do it than sneaking up behind him and knocking him out with a crowbar, but even if you have to drag him by his girly little nose, do it. Get him, conscious or not, to the Coliseum for the Lost Regiment. Step two-B, you put on the mask he usually wears and double for him.

Step three: For an entire year. No, really. I don't care how you do it, but I imagine he's not been making an explicit presence of himself anyway, so if he misses a couple of holidays due to ostensible hangovers, seriously, who's gonna blink?

My boys will take it from there.

Now, before you make this out as the most backhanded and dastardly hostage situation to rear its ugly head since the Great White Turncoat had his own brother deported...well, it kind of is. My boys are going to fly him to this little island retreat with a really deep cave (he's been there before but you haven't) and this really, really old guy is going to keep him company. And Sasarai is going to spend a year communing with nature and not giving a shit about what's going on in the world outside his lightweight head.

So, once your role in this is over, for purposes of keeping his and my records intact, and so he can absolve you of hitting him upside the head with a crowbar, give him the letter. There's more of it for him to read, and thank you in advance. (Also, if you tell anyone about this--and I'll know if you tell anyone about this--I will consider it an act of war and my vengeance will be swift, direct and, as always, involve short-order cooking.)

...No, seriously. Thank you. I just want Sasarai to be around for another hundred years. You can understand that, right?

So, now that the letter has hopefully changed hands...Hey there, Lightweight, how's the weather?

_-Futch _

-

_Futch- _

You sent me to Eldest Living. You sent me, a foreigner, to Eldest Living. You sent me, a former adversary, to the Eldest Living Dragon's Island.

Words simply cannot express.

_-Sasarai_

_-_

_S-_

Cannot express what? Gratitude? Ire? Your concern for my apparent madness?

_-F_

_-_

_F-_

All that and so much more, Futch. The fortuitous, the portentous, the awe I am feeling for  
it all. I can express none

Allow me to put you at ease first; your Knights have made me feel very welcome here, as I suspect was your intention, and I want for neither relaxation nor company (save yours, but that is another matter). I thank you from every cell in my heart for your generosity, confidence, and concern. And I can assure you that the weather is amicable, if hazy and a touch more fickle than I am used to. I have spent much of my time here so far in repose under the sprawling dark-leaved tree at the cave's mouth, staring out at the ocean and reading, or singing those ballads that Chaco taught me, back when we three were together—can it be so long ago? I have found a few promising voices among your Knights here, and as several are quite young they hunger for tales of the past, which I have indulged them in, with all due respect to those who feature in them. (That is to say that certain Great White Turncoats, as you call them, get very little respect.)

However, the concern you purport for me is returned in kind. You wrote of gratitude first and ire second, and yes, I do feel a measure of anger at your having brought me here. Not enough to leave, and certainly not enough to begrudge you your gift. I believe the anger is primarily at myself for having allowed wounds to my heart to fester for so long.

But there is also anger at you, Futch, for putting so much at political risk. I am not a trustworthy being, my dear friend. I have played the traitor in the past. I have hidden grave truths from you. I have proven myself incompetent at dictating my own actions, on occasion, and even when my intentions were purest and most distant from the transgressions wrought by these peremptory hands I have acted as the conduit for those with agendas counter to yours. In trusting me you have always been unwise.

To think, I feel wrath that you are the better man than I. Perhaps it is because you are, in fact, human.

I am then frightened, following that caravan of thought. I do not wish to give you reason to retract your kindness, and so I police myself rather effectively.

And then I feel rather silly, for monitoring my actions in such a fashion. Obviously you see something in this shell that allays whatever doubts you might have as to my sound mind and prowlessness with regard to ruining you.

And then I worry; why have you not joined me here? Are you otherwise engaged, or could you actually be as base and underhanded a creature as I, and acting in the duplicitous fashion to which I am no stranger? Granted, you would never do such a thing, which makes my paranoia all the more potent.

Perhaps I spent too much time in Albert's entourage.

But do not worry, friend. I am safe, and I am thankful, and I have no doubt that a year in such a retreat will put a dent in something akin to recovery from whatever malaise erodes my mind.

As I ought not write to Orosi from here, permit me to placate any apprehensions you may have had about his ability to emulate me. The only ones still living given to notice the difference are already aware of it, my 'pet vampire', as you call him, included. Orosi has no doubt devised some excuse to placate those who crave justification of my absence from court. None of them can know of this place, though, I assure you.

We pray for your understanding of Our frailty, and your own health.

_-Sasarai_

_-_

_S- _

I should probably be offended that you even considered that I would use this as a ruse to get at your country, but yeah, you have been hanging around the Great White Turncoat for long enough to try the patience of a saint--and since you're not dead, you're not a saint yet, so he was able to get to you. I don't mind--and it would really be an ingenious way to disrupt things in your country for long enough to start dissolving it--but one, that's a really bad idea, and two, I'm no genius.  
  
As for why I'm not there with you...well, the reason you're going to prefer is that, unlike you, I don't have an Orosi to stand in for me and intimidate my enemies--and I've got lots of those now, active ones, ones that know what kind of losses we suffered in the Islands. Friends of yours. Certain pet vampires. So I've got to be the face on the home front and I'm the only one with my face. I might be able to steal away for a little, but frankly I'm just as paranoid as you are, just not at you.

The reason you're not going to like, but that I'll tell you anyway because I care, is that I finally figured out what you meant about wanting to not get...well, used to things. This should stay special, because if it stops being special then we're going to overstay our welcome on this earth and be bored. So, we should make sure we don't forget each other…but not become dependent on generations of plucky little Nasal. It was your idea first, and it worked until that last war ruined things...so we should try it again.

Like I said, I may visit, I may not. But who knows--maybe if you heal without me actually there, it'll last for longer. Just know that I'm always thinking of you.

See if you can't talk to Eldest Living himself. He might like some of Chaco's songs, now that I think about it.

_-F_

-

_Futch- _

Surely you can't be serious. Offend the sensibilities of a sacred being with lewd songs?

_-Sasarai _

-

_S- _

I can't imagine how long it's been since he had a good, raunchy laugh. Kick it off with something tame, though, like "Drunken Dragon". Mind the low notes, though.

_-F_

_-_

_Futch-_

He preferred "the Ballad of the Pig Killer". I am surprised to have remembered as much as I did; I recalled the verses for the "circlet-wearing child", "two-bit drunken brawler", "pretty boy in exile", "whiney little schoolgirl", "pack of puppy kobolds", "simple-minded squirrel", "common cattle-rustler", and "smart-mouthed seer's apprentice".

How many verses are there?

_-Sasarai_

_-_

_S-_

"Pig killer, pig killer, got a bark to match his bite,

But a circlet-wearing child made pork chops of Luca Blight."

Haven't thought of that one in a long, long time. I think I'll start a chorus up at dinner tonight, see who remembers what.

_-F_

_-_

_Futch-_

Apparently I have unintentionally begun a contest among your Knights to see who can uncover or add the most humorous verse to the song. One of them, a fourth-degree named Rolf, supplied this:

"'Twas a balmy summer evening and the breeze was soft and still

When the Beastly Prince of Jowston needed something cute to kill.

He was ready set and go to dine Harmonian instead,

But the earth rose up around him and came crashing on his head.

Pig killer, pig killer, in the pigpen for the night,

When a plucky priest made porridge from the bones of Luca Blight."

I laughed, and complimented his alliteration, but nonetheless was bound to inform him that I had been on Prince Luca's side of the war. He was quite surprised.

_-Sasarai_

_-_

_Plucky Priest-_

You'll appreciate this one:

"'Twas a sunny day in Jowston, and they'd all had too much wine,

So they sent a baby dragon and his Knight to the front line.

They speared the beast and served him up, and couldn't help agree;

There's nothing quite like madman when it's done rotisserie!

Pig killer, pig killer, claimed he had a dragon's might,

But a pint-sized punk from Goya made a roast of Luca Blight."

Apparently that one's been around a while. As in, decades. They just didn't have the guts to sing it to my face.

_-Pint-sized Punk no longer_

_-_

_Pint-sized Punk-_

Is there one for Chaco?

_-Lightweight_

_-_

_Lightweight-_

I asked around.

"It was cold and it was woodsy, in the forests near Two River,

And the crazy Prince of Jowston was a-running for his liver.

From the treetops came a-flying down a hatchling, it is true;

Pecked his eyes out, pecked his nose out, and then picked his pockets too!

Pig killer, pig killer, put up one Hell of a fight,

But a thieving little Winger made a worm of Luca Blight."

I really miss Chaco.

_-Futch_

_-_

-IS 546-

_Futch-_

As my respite on this Island draws to a close, I find, as usual, that I cannot thank you enough. Despite your never having joined me here over the course of this year, your love and concern for me has been gradually made obvious to even my paranoid heart, and warmed me each morning in the company of the sun. I will miss this place, but my memories of it, like the ones of years prior when I was your guest at someone else's momentous name-day, shall persist even through the cold of my home in Crystal Valley. I shall take up the mask again, but shall smile behind it, confusing Our Divine Father's hymns for Chaco's ballads once again. (I have had a lot of time here to forge parallels between the two song-forms. You will find the list rather amusing when I assemble it in full, perhaps in a later letter or, providence willing, in your company at some forthcoming date.

As I have learned is your custom, I left an offering of thanks to Eldest Living. Perhaps he will tell you of it when you next deign to grace this island. It was not terribly conventional. Perhaps you should worry about what it is.

(I grin as I write this, friend.)

Your loving abduction of my person shall persist as a beacon of light in my dreary existence. We pray for your continued prosperity and the well-being of those you hold dear, and for an opportunity to express Our thanks in a manner more indicative of its abundance.

_-Sasarai_

_-_

_Sasarai-_

Your happiness is thanks enough.

_-Futch_

-

-IS 547-

_To Commander Futch Schvarzeleber of the Dragon Knights of Goya_

_From His Holiness the Archbishop Sasarai I of the Holy Harmonian Empire, Duke-in-Absentiam of Gaien, Governor-in-Absentiam of Middleport, and Chief Overseer of Caleria,_

Good gracious, you are a century old.

Enjoy the wine, of course, but only after you've heard the minstrels.

-

_Sasarai-_

Roland and Nei had how many children?

(Thank you.)

_-Futch_

---


	8. IS 603 to IS 610

IS 603

_S-_

I'm going to be unreachable for the next couple of years. Don't ask why. And don't invade my country. I'll know.

_-F_

---

IS 610

_Sasarai-_

I just flew around the world and it was goddamned AWESOME. Thanks for not invading my country or anything while I was out.

You have to do this someday, Sasarai. Lord knows you have the time and the funds. Take a break from the invasions and the subjugations and the fetch-quests and, let me put it bluntly, reap the benefits of this whole immortality thing. You, your pet vampire, and your sleepy dad can hold off six or seven years, right? It'll probably take less time for you, actually, since you'd be doing it in style. And heck, you might even stumble across what you want in some place you never figured you' be able to look.

That said, I'm gonna stop being pedantic and tell you about the trip. Well, maybe not 'trip', it's too big for that. Journey, maybe, but there wasn't really a destination, except, technically, home.

It started when Geddoe came back. This makes three times, you know. I don't believe it either. Anyway, he said he was giving up, and I don't blame him. You've had it out for him since forever, after all, and he finally ran out of allies, patience, and anonymity, in that order. (I hope you're satisfied.) So he turned to me, since I was still around, not technically an ally but at least a potential benefactor. "Futch," he says to me, "Futch, I'm fucking tired." I told him I noticed. He elaborated.

The general overview is that he doesn't trust the sealing idea the Chishans had--with good reason--and doesn't just want to foist the thing on someone. I mean, you had Nash murder the last guy Geddoe was grooming for the slot. Well, I think there was grooming. Or there should have been. You, my Holy friend, have made things so difficult for Geddoe in all the known world that there's no real point in him putting out the classified for competent thunder-mage immortal aspirants. So he's got this plan; he pays me an inordinate amount of money to keep my trap shut and have two or three of my men escort him as far out of your reach as he can get. I ask where that is, he's got no clue, he figured he'd just go West until East stops happening, like the sun does. So I think about it for all of half a second and make sure "So you're asking for a trip around the world," and he says, "Yeah". And I say, "Screw the money and screw the escort. I'm going with you."

I gave him a night to think about it, but he ended up saying "All right."

I've got a really good Second right now and an even better Third, so I told them to take care of things. I put a double-saddle on Bright and we flew out less than a week after Geddoe had flown in.

We went to Vinay del Zexay first, stopped at a few trustworthy places along the way. I figured this was the time to teach your one-eyed enemy how to fly, and he turned out to be pretty good at it. I'm not sure how much of a 'knack' you can have for things when you're as old as we are, but I think he just knows how to learn things. It beat ferrying McDohl and his crew back in the day. (The only good flyer out of that group was Cleo. Figures.)

I hadn't been back to VdZ since leaving it the last time, and man, that place has changed. It's been over a century, I know, but that harbor's got a different kind of ship sailing out of it now. Fat-bellied and fast freighters. They remind me of bodyguards. And they're propelled by runes now, wind and water magic and Kamandohl fans. They've got a big, lazy, religious navy too. And did I mention Chris is a goddess? No, doesn't surprise me either.

I sent Bright to his side of the Veil to follow us. Before we hopped onto the shadiest ship in existence, we stocked up and gathered leads, which wasn't too difficult at all. Except, silly me--you'll appreciate this--I forgot to disguise myself until Geddoe forgot to remind me. I mean, I wasn't wearing my circlet or anything, but they could tell I was a Dragon Knight. And I have this ring-tan around my head. It's embarrassing.

But one-eye and I were a distinctive pair in that city. Almost everyone was bright and prosperous and healthy. There were more water-runes than you could count before getting distracted. No, really. (That was another thing that gave us away. We both wore gloves. No one respectable in VdZ wears gloves anymore.)

So we tangled with a fortune-teller on some corner. We passed her and she reeled around like a moth with his wings pried off. She called us 'old ones', and Geddoe told me to just keep walking but I didn't listen. She looked me straight in the eyes--hers were red like Yuber's left one--and called me "Messenger God". No, not 'messenger-OF-God", I think that's you. "Messenger God." I gave her a handful of potch and backed away and she started railing. Wished me luck with 'bearing Wotan', whatever that is. She did it kind of loudly, though. As in she assaulted me and stammered like a drunk. It kicked up a scene. At least Geddoe got away. I met him at the inn later. I'm glad he's not the type to lecture.

You know, he makes me feel young and stupid. Not in the way you do, though. You'd think things would have evened out by now, but the way old one-eye acted at the start was enough to make me wonder when Leknaat needed an errand boy again and how the heck I got this tall. But that comes later.

So, right, the sleazy ship. As I said, Geddoe was out of allies. The closest he had was a bastard great-great-grandson of Salome Harras. You read that correctly. We're that old. No, I will not give you his name. The guy owed Geddoe a favor and I now owe him one, so he forged us papers that would get us to the edge of Zexen territory on a ship that wouldn't ask too many questions. Solid, I know, but it was all we felt safe shooting for. We made it four days on that ship--about halfway to the port in question--until a deckhand asked "So, Messenger God?"

I stuffed my foot into my mouth and told him I used to be the fastest Dragon Knight ever, but my dragon died and my friend and I were in exile, and maybe that was how the lady on the street-corner had heard of me. The best lies have a little truth in them, right? And it made me a friend on the ship. If there's anything I've figured out these last hundred and fifty years, it's that nine times out of ten the friends you make now will have your back later, and they're usually better equipped to help you farther down the line. Case in point, me and Geddoe.

No, I'm not giving you the kid's name either. Get your own friends in strange places.

You see, this is going to be a really difficult letter to write. First off, I'm not dropping any names you don't already know. At all. I'm protecting all of these people, it's their right. Second, I'm going to tell you the events out of order so that you can't trace us. Third, I'm going to exaggerate because that's what I do in some places and I'm trying to convince you to get off your eminent ass and see the world without an army in front of you. Fourth, I'm going to do the opposite of exaggerate because some of these things have to be watered down or fact-pruned to protect the not-so-innocent. So what you have in front of you is technically a romanticization. Who'd have thought it, me, a romantic?

I can tell you about what went down in the Island Nations, since you know where those are and you probably know about this incident anyway, just not our role in it. Thank you for not taking advantage of the unrest. When Geddoe and I got to Ajit, I won't say precisely when, we decided to disguise ourselves as pirates. It was a useful cover story. He was Captain Caster and I was Captain Drake, and we were only captains because the rest of our crews were dead. So we went about trying to acquire a ship big enough for Bright to hang around on as well, and looked for leads West. We got more than we bargained for.

Every time we asked someone about massive ships and going West, we got an earful about something called "the Flock". Apparently there was an internal conflict going on in those Islands again, and again there's a Silverberg at the heart of it. You see, when Albert made a royal mess of things in the Island Nations years ago, he built a stronghold for himself and Yuber to operate out of, somewhere off the coast of Iluya. The smartass had a failsafe so that, if he died before his time, really bad things would happen to whoever had made it to that Island to kill him. And because this is Albert we're talking about, the man who had Yuber by his goddamned side for NINETY YEARS, I don't just mean mundane really bad things. Bad supernatural things too. I feel like I should have been prepared for that. In fact, I think you warned me, a long time ago. I'm sorry for not listening.

I think, in the end, Albert was as powerful as you, Sasarai, and that's without a True Rune. I'm very glad he's dead.

So this Flock thing started off as just a small pirate crew. I got most of the story from before Geddoe and I showed up. They found Albert's mansion. They did what pirates do to creepy abandoned mansions on creepy abandoned Islands--they robbed it blind. And they triggered Albert's failsafes, which of course went off even though he was already dead for what, now, forty years? I hate him.

A lot of letters got sent, detailing the weaknesses and secrets of nearly every government within the Island Nations to select other nations. Who was corrupt where, who could be bought and for what price, details on secret weapon projects, border skirmishes, executions, kidnappings, you name it. Everyone wanted to capitalize on the info, so everyone tried. And these were up-to-date secrets too, not from before he died. It'll make sense later, I promise.

And on top of that, there was this rash of monster-related killings. Invisible creatures. Not wide scale or genocide, more like serial killing; there were links between most of the victims. One of the kids on the Flock-that-wasn't-yet-the-Flock figured out that nearly all of the people killed had important libraries or connections to the occult. Even the ones we thought were anomalies--there were a couple of middlemen and tavern owners among the dead--had something important to contribute. There was even a street kid who had stolen an old Silverberg journal.

The result of this was that a lot of important knowledge that had been just sitting around got revealed to people eager to use it. They couldn't help themselves. The countries invaded each other and the mystical stuff got reenacted, all at the same time. The islands were in chaos and the Flock was right at the heart of it, and they of course got blamed by people in power. Because it was, kind of, their fault.

And then, apparently, Leknaat showed up. And she says to the not-yet-the-Flock, "Fix this. I can't. And besides, you started it." Essentially. And, well, the Stone Tablet showed up and some punk kid with a bandana started recruiting the furniture.

I got to be an end-table. I think Geddoe's an ottoman.

Geddoe--I mean "Captain Caster"--and I filled up our old slots, Tenjyu for him and Chibi for me. We met up with the Flock about halfway into their crusade of information. They stopped the little wars one at a time, reassembled and sealed up all the important books, and exterminated the last of Albert's invisible army. We think. And then we split up.

I caught a couple of familiar faces. Viki either didn't recognize us, or played along, but she was there, manning the mirror as ever. I was expecting Pesmerga to show up, but if he did I didn't notice. Jeane I just avoided, which was easy, considering I owe her something. And the Flock itself wasn't a bad bunch, otherwise we wouldn't have helped them. I think Geddoe was hoping to find his successor among that bunch, but the only likely candidate decided to guard the Island in the end, and I think Geddoe needed someone that wasn't attached to a place. The better you'll never find him. Or her. Or it.

Let's see, what else can I tell you about, keeping it out of order...well, we made it to Marlintine and crashed with the Silverbergs there. There's a war on there too; one of their colonies to the south up and declared independence. And by declared independence I mean dug a canal and made itself an island. I don't think there's a stronger way out there of saying "I don't want to be part of your country".

I can explain this. So, Marlintine. When Caesar got booted off the continent all those years ago, he apparently did very, very well for himself in Marlintine. I think he wound up the financial advisor to a couple of really important people, in addition to the "ambassador" thing he wound up doing by accident. So of course, he wound up with mansions, concubines, priceless artwork, and aristocratic titles that I can't pronounce and don't translate well. He died back in 529 by our calendar, but happily. One of his servants is writing an epic poem about all that. Shocked me too.

Well, he had a lot of kids, some calling themselves Silverbergs too, some not. In fact, "Silverberg" here is more like an estate or a Grassland clan than a family, but they live in the city. They call it a "wengoya", and the word the Falenans use when they translate it is "bu quoi", which means academy, but I seriously think I lost something. And all the servants of the house associate themselves with the name Silverberg. So when I say there are Silverbergs on both sides of the war, I might not actually mean in terms of blood relation. And it isn't a war yet. Well, technically. I can't think of anything else to call it; it's bigger than a border skirmish, and no one's really raiding anything else. But when the side that dug the channel decides it doesn't have to obey the new laws some lower official made and claims that the estate system lacks unity—I don't rightly understand all of it myself—it gets pretty violent.

Thing is, they spend more time building defense on both sides than they do being offensive. When it's bloody the channel runs red with it, but the war seems more about intimidating the other side into thinking whatever they're planning is just not going to work. There's actually a kind of Rune shield both sides are using, like what you were using against me and mine during the war in the Islands. One side builds theirs higher, the other side retaliates by adding an element-shifter to that, you get the idea.

So people swim the channel. Some Silverbergs have, some haven't. I wanted to stick around and watch this conflict play itself out, but Geddoe thought we were still too close to home. I mean, they teach our language now. And we had to get to places you didn't know about at all. Half-formed jellyfish countries don't count.

"Jellyfish countries." Definitely one of those phrases that doesn't translate well.

So, let me see, what else can I tell you about….There's the second of the four islands we got shipwrecked on. It turned out to be part of a long archipelago. We ended up tangling with the natives, who were at war with the island next door. In order to save our necks, we had to paint ourselves red and run this kind of obstacle course. After that, well, it took a few months for us to learn enough to explain to them that no, we weren't new additions to the tribe, and really had to be on our way. They sent someone off with us, to get us to a place where we would, perhaps, be understood. I picked up Falenan and enough Marlint in our time at sea, but by this point those languages were starting to be just about as useful as ours.

Apparently, though, the way we left that island was as part of a kind of slave-trade. Well, not really slave, more like contender for bride, but it's still human traffic. When we found out the girl they'd sent us with had intended as a kind of tribute to the local ruler of the archipelago, well, I wanted to make damned certain that she wanted to go ahead with it. Geddoe didn't rightly care. Or he pretended not to. But she ended up not going to the chieftain she was supposed to go to. Also, one of the more powerful islands—not the one we'd crashed on—sent a couple of assassins instead of a proper tribute. Familiar face, one of them. His sword says hello to your pet vampire.

Turned out that the chieftain was, in fact, a creature of the night, and after our buddy and the sword put the chieftain to sleep, our buddy translated some stuff for the girl from that island. Who we are, what we were up to, why there was a huge white lizard following me around, you know, the little things we never quite got to. She ended up sticking with us for a good long while after that, but not long enough for me to take her home. I think she liked old one-eye more, anyway.

Now, I was all for taking that old friend and his sword along with us, but Geddoe didn't seem all that enthused, and besides, the talking sword wanted to get back to business and business was taking them to a place out of our way. Namely, East. Back in your direction. Don't say I didn't warn you. So we shared a few drinks and fireside tales and if anyone there was able to translate what we were rambling about they would have been really, really confused. And we braved the hangovers and set out for less human-traffic-heavy places.

I think we managed to make it to a proper continent after that, going a fair bit north. The climate was more like Kamaro than anything else, and I seriously thought we'd gone the whole way around and that Marlintine really was halfway around the world. We were wrong. If I had to guess, I'd say the center of Marlintine actually marks about a third around, now that I've been the whole way.

So this new place, the full continent, with all the coldness, we ran into a Squirrel-folk society. They were welcoming. And, oddly enough, they spoke something approaching our language, some of the time. Apparently they have a real network, ongoing for hundreds of years. They've been in our neck of the woods and farther south than Falena. It was, though, apparently the first time that someone from outside had decided to come to them, so they made a big deal out of it. I now know more ways of preparing tree-nuts than any human being really should.

Geddoe and the girl and I ended up accompanying one of their clenches on a southward expedition, to get back on our track. Human-friendly country, I'd say, a lot like Tinto must seem to a foreigner. Once we got out of the forest it was mining territory, for a kind of liquid coal. If the terrain weren't so water-rich I think they'd be in real trouble.

We met a couple of interesting folks in these parts. It's a big continent, larger than Harmonia I think, though I will admit to not running across a block of land claiming fealty to one ruler as large as yours. There was a very Grassland arrangement to this whole part of the journey, little societies that appeared to know about each other and interact with each other and fight, but not over land. That's probably because they were farther apart than the Grassland clans are, and everyone traveled mostly by river. There's this elaborate mess of rivers, with tolls and taxes and people who seriously make a living making it harder to get from place to place. And, of course, pirates. Lots and lots of river-pirates. And better at what they did than Anji and the gang from back in the day.

I said, interesting folks. By far the most interesting was the one who gave us the hardest time getting around of any of them. I'm not naming names, of course, but he was—well, I'd say the Third but you'd call him the Second—of one of those bands of river-pirates. And when a not-quite-accident involving Geddoe's right hand and a small rock outcropping happened, the Third or Second or whichever became the leader. He made it his personal business to hinder our progress from state to state.

It worked. At first it was kind of funny, you know, because we had such an advantage on him. I mean, I'm no pushover, Geddoe's Geddoe, and Bright occasionally enjoys foreign foods. But with every time we threw them back, they'd regroup with new followers and more devastating plans. I think there was witch-hunting involved. I mean, they had Runes and all in this half of the world, but I don't for the life of me know how else to explain it.

I think we ended up accidentally uniting those countries and causing an economic truce. I swear, in the end, anyone on the continent who was mobile had taken up arms and started chasing us off it.

I almost forgot—something that would be of real interest to you. On one of the islands, I think it was technically part of the archipelago that we were shipwrecked on for the fourth time, but before we actually crashed, there was a mountain that the locals had carved to resemble their god. An entire mountain. Probably about as big as Tigerwolf, and that's after they gave it robes and a funny hat. Now, Geddoe and I didn't speak a whit of their language, but the mountain was specifically carved in a way that used a different kind of stone for the god's right hand, so I didn't have to speak to know that this "god" was really a Rune-bearer. I didn't recognize the sigil, but by the time you get this I'll have at least started looking.

The god looked kind of like old Maximillian, actually, in robes and a funny hat. Did you ever get to meet that man, when he was alive?

Let's see, what else…I think I almost fell in love with a tree.

Anyway. I know you're probably not looking forward to hearing this, but Geddoe and I had a lot of interesting conversations. He may be a reticent man, but I didn't spend the whole time talking to myself.

(What? It was a really nice tree.)

Some of them were important, others not so much. I even got to learn some thing about his past which, no, I don't think I'm at leisure to repeat, but which he'd otherwise have taken completely to the grave. We talked politics, we talked strategy, and even with a wanderer's lifestyle you manage to see a play or two in three hundred years of existence. He never sang when we got drunk, but he corrected my words. I reckon he's heard every tavern ballad ever written on our side of the world.

(Besides, it was a very shapely tree. And soft. And I could have sworn it was whispering to me. And I was very drunk.)

By the end…or the middle, since I'm throwing things out of order and exaggerating and all…we had one that went kind of like this.

"But look what you've done in these five years, Geddoe! You got new allies— myself included, you know—you got out of the reach of all those people after you, learned new things, saw new places. You could start a new life out here. It's a big world! And you're free to just keep going around it. Why don't you? Seriously, why don't you? Why end it here?"

"...Think about the old ones you know, Futch. what do they call themselves?"

"I don't know any old ones."

"You know five old ones. Lenkaat. Windy. Pesmerga. Yuber. Sierra. What do they call themselves, Futch?"

"Demons. Vampires."

"Not Leknaat. You've got a one-in-five chance. You've fought worse."

"It doesn't get easier."

"It's not supposed to."

"…Just leave me here, Futch. Maybe I will and maybe I won't, but if I start down that path it's your fault."

And all I could do was say "Deal."

So I guess that makes it pretty clear what happened…he found and started training a successor that you'll never get the chance to kill. And I left them, somewhere that maybe I mentioned, maybe I didn't. And Bright and I made it back to Goya on our own.

There's so much I didn't tell you…not because I don't remember it, and not because I don't want to, but because I want you to go. And then I want to sit down and compare notes. I didn't miss anything more than you while I was gone, you know. Nearly every place I wound up in, I wondered what you'd think of it.

In fact, just go. Don't reply to this letter. Finish reading it and set your affairs in order and tell Orosi he's got another stint as you coming up, and go. West until the East stops happening, like the sun does.

And when you come back, I'll be here.

_-Futch_

-

_Futch-_

I am in awe.

_Sasarai_

-

_S-_

I said don't write. Just go.

_F_

---


	9. IS 703 to IS 704

-IS 703-

_Futch-_

The demon Pesmerga came to me in a dream. I do not recall much of what transpired, if anything, but upon awakening felt you ought to know. I write this hastily; though the dream itself was rather peaceful and silent, disquietingly so, I feel now as if the mightiest hordes of Hell have gathered at the base of my tower-quarters. I can hear their teeth gnashing and remember of course that it is merely wind and snow, as it is every morning, but there is a certain foreboding tone to it all, a frankness and freshness like an anticipated cough.

There is a measure of happiness in the assurance that the demon is still a presence. I will speak of this with Our Divine Father presently.

I am compelled to wish this be borne to you in great haste, though I am uncertain as to why.

_-Sasarai_

_-_

_Lightweight-_

He got you too?

Same deal over here. I passed out at my desk, believe it or not, woke up with a signet imprint on my cheek. And ink in my hair. Haven't done that since I first took up the Rune.

I'm hoping it's not much to worry about. Good luck getting information out of your sleepy dad. If it's not a compromise to empire security, let me know?

_-Futch_

-

_Lightweight-_

Addendum. I hope this next bird knows the way. This makes two nights. Same drill, though this time I woke up with the stamp in my other cheek.

If you don't have a bad feeling about this, I hope you're drunk as opposed to insane.

_-Futch_

-

_Futch-_

Do not be concerned as to my sanity. What I have lost, I lost long ago. I have, perhaps not as overwhelming a concern as you, but to be sure I am concerned. However, I hope to allay some of yours.

It is fortuitous that I did not immediately reply to your earlier letter, considering you sent the second. In truth, I intended to wait for the completion of a short vigil and ritual, on the advice and with the aid of Our Divine Father and, also, Orosi, whom I upon inquiry discovered had both been subject to a similar vision.

We prayed through the night in Our Divine Father's chambers—Orosi having returned from the Island Nations for this express purpose—and the Demon made his presence known in the darkest moments of the night. Perhaps this is when you also had your dream, but for the three of us, a dream it was not. The Demon acknowledged Orosi and me, then discoursed briefly with Our Divine Father.

Our Divine Father deferred to him, after his fashion. "Hallowed one," he called the demon, "toward what end hast thou manifested in the minds of Us and Ours?"

The demon said, "I came not to your mind, but your quarters." He looked like himself, but he was no longer wearing the ancient armor I had seen him in last waking, now girt after the fashion of a Marlint Warlord's retainer. Was it so for you, Futch?

"Wherefore hast thou then granted such a rare blessing?" Our Divine Father asked.

And the Demon replied, "It is no blessing."

"Then, speak of thy pains, fore surely thine errand need be conveyed with more than a glance."

"My errand was to appraise. Having done so, no further words were necessary."

"Have We cause, then, to further glean knowledge of thine intent?"

"Orosi," he said, turning his eyes toward him. Only his eyes, these dying stars within the red hollows of his helm. I don't believe anyone strayed from his position during this entire exchange.

Orosi had never beheld Pesmerga, even in over a century of life. I do believe he was awed. I myself was rather afraid, given my past alliances with the Great White Turncoat and, by extension, Yuber. And Orosi looked to Our Divine Father, who told him to speak freely.

"Your power is humbling, Demon of Order," my son said. I believe it was an appropriate thing to say.

The Demon asked if Orosi understood his offer.

Orosi replied, "No."

The Demon said then, "I will quiet the voices."

I understood his offer, then.

Orosi drew in a deep breath, and I remember it rattling. He said, "We will enact Our Father and Our Divine Father's will on earth."

Futch, do you perhaps remember the moment after you, sought out by a party of recruiters, acquiesced to their pleas, joined a cause not your own? The feeling that, perhaps, the path behind you has been barred and drowned in fog, and remains only in your memories, never to be returned to by earthly means? That you are, perhaps, the single remaining grain of sand needed to tip the avalanche and reshape the mountain's face?

The Demon turned his eyes on me and spoke my name. Our Divine Father instructed me also to speak freely. He called me "my child," as he had not in years. Perhaps I deserved it.

I turned to the Demon and inclined my head, and said, "We are as a black stormcloud against the vastness of your auspiciously-starred absolution, and mar you with Our past unworthy actions." Orosi protested, but I went on, "Forgive Us Our years spent hand-in-hand with those who served your adversary."

"There is no need," he said.

I told him he was too magnanimous. He asked if I understood his offer. I told him, "Yes."

He said, "I will warm your heart."

I felt like he said it inside my head. It echoed, Futch, like things do in Eldest Living's cave, it surrounded me, filled me, stopped the words in my throat like a cork stops the vapors in a bottle of old wine. And I saw his eyes properly then, like Yuber's, reflected. I expected that, I think, yet still it tightened my chest.

I told him, as my son had told him, "We will enact Our Divine Father's will on earth." It was evasive, I know, but it said what I meant to say. I thought of you, Futch, as you are one of the few things other than my mission keeping me attached to the breathing world at all, and I do not want to leave you.

The Demon turned to Our Divine Father then, and asked the same question without preamble. Our Divine Father understood. The Demon said nothing more.

"Our mission is not counter to thine," Our Divine Father said, "and We will continue to enact it as We have been. All this time We have served an end not unlike the one thou strivest toward. Wherefore then dost thou ask of Us to change Our means?

The Demon removed his helm and held it beside him, looking between the three of us in our masks and robes. Orosi was the first to understand what this meant; he removed his mask, and I mine, and Our Divine Father his own as well. The Demon seemed to evaluate us, but only nodded in an irritatingly inscrutable fashion, and was gone.

When we awoke—for, somehow, we had slept, all three of us there—we spoke not a word of this. I do not suspect we ever will. Nor should you and I breach the subject further.

You will understand his offer should he bring it to you, as I expect he shall.

I think, perhaps, that in sending this letter I have expressed a selfish desire, that you not receive what he desires to give you, for to do so is to step aside. You will understand, and I will understand if you choose to walk astride him. For his offer is tempting, Futch, as all others bestowed by his ilk, and perhaps it is in your best interest to comply.

It is a hard thing to articulate, this churning in my breast; as ever, for you, I desire what keeps you happiest, but…ah, now the allusions come.

Envision the moored bird of whom you so often speak. He is beholden to the matronly grasp of the earth; indeed, as you again so often say, he is already dead. He is no longer himself, and can no longer hope to be himself, and so he despairs. But in his dreams, he finds solace in flights remembered and conjured, though these leave him hollow and dysphoric as morning comes.

Of course, if this moored bird was as sensible as you purport his kind are, he would have 'jumped when the others flew'. Suppose, friend, that he cannot. For reasons known only to the powers that govern this earth and laugh at our expense, he cannot in good conscience break his body on the waves and sink so that others may ascend.

An offer is made to the bird; that he may fly in dreams from which he need not wake. The despair will not redouble; the memories never fade; the heavens themselves will expand to account for this eternity of soaring, untroubled within and without.

It is a tempting offer, as I said. As all others bestowed by his ilk.

I pray for you, Futch. I pray for you, selfishly.

_-Lightweight_

_-_

_Sasarai-_

Thanks for the warnings, and of course the prayers. Unfortunately, he doesn't waste words on me. Well, maybe fortunately.

He keeps showing up around corners when I least expect it, once, maybe twice a day. I don't know how he managed to find the time to come to you all if he's so busy haunting me. Maybe I'll take your advice and actually look for him instead of trying to ignore the guy, but frankly I'm of the belief that you just don't go looking for demons. For any reason. Especially if they're looking for you.

I'll keep you posted on whether he says anything or just spends the next few days trying to creep me out. Hopefully he'll get bored and go back to chasing that black-hatted bastard like he's supposed to be doing.

And you have no idea why either, it seems. Or at least no idea that you can express without resorting to poetry and memories that make me cringe. Not that it's been so long since I've thought about Chaco…but I tend to rely on the songs and the stories and the spontaneous explosions when I think of him. It's all a blur—I've rehearsed the past so many times in my head that I have to wonder if I'm remembering the truth. Did we really almost burn through the seat of Hoi's pants with a defunct fire spear? Did Sid really fling him out of the War Room just to prove he weighed less than Gabocha? Did you ever really walk in on me with two of the girls? I know we three watched the sun rise on Eldest Living's island, but were our hands joined at the time?

Did he really jump when the others flew?

I have my memories, and I have the Rune's, and the Rune has mine. Sometimes I wonder if it's fine-tuned the edges a little, just to make them more hair-splitting.

Anyway, I'll keep you posted on whether Pes decides to fess up or not. You'll be the first I tell, I'm sure.

_-Futch_

_-_

_­_­_Futch-_

Yes, they were, but we two were wearing gloves, though I believe Chaco was not.

Something strikes me as rather ominous about Pesmerga's 'haunting' you, as you rightly describe it, but then, there is always a feeling of foreboding to be had around men as old as they. Perhaps my time spent with Our Divine Father and, yes, Yuber, has desensitized me some to the aspect of awe, aerated the fear and left only a precipitate of knowledge that these beings have seen more than I, perhaps, ever shall.

(And yet, no, in the case of Our Divine Father, who shall never behold the world of Wings and Scales as I have, at your good grace, nor has he seen the corners of the world to which I have, at your behest, made my pilgrimage to. The literal, to have seen, is eclipsed by the figurative, to have lived.)

My dearest friend, I apologize deeply if I have uprooted that which you would have buried. If it is of any consolation at all, I regard any memory I have of you, of those times, of those who are now gone to be precious, just as the useless and troublesome everyday tools of old are regarded by those who set their picks and shovels toward the past. A dark memory is a memory still, and proof that we were once better, more living creatures than we are now. Even if I was never mine, I was, in a sense, whole; I do not feel so, now.

It is worse, now Pesmerga has come and gone. I know I have made my decision, though, and by it I stand.

I pray your heart will settle.

_-Sasarai_

_-_

_Sasarai-_

It's been almost two months. He's everywhere. I need an old priest and a young priest. I think you'll do for both, right?

­_-Futch_

_-_

_Futch-_

I will do what I can from here.

_-Sasarai_

_-_

_Lightweight-_

Wrong answer.

_-Futch_

_-_

_Futch-_

He will not speak to you if I am there, nor will he leave. I will do what I can from here.

_­-Sasarai_

_-_

_Lightweight-_

No, really, wrong answer.

_-Futch_

_-_

_Futch-_

You are declining to say something.

_-Sasarai_

_-_

_Lightweight-_

So are you.

­_-Futch_

_-_

_Futch-_

Wait.

_-Sasarai_

_-_

_Lightweight-_

What was that you said about having lost your sanity long ago?

_-Futch_

_-_

_Futch-_

In the name of all things holy, trust me.

_-Sasarai_

_-_

_My Son-_

There was no time to tell you. I awoke from the most horrifying of visions and am gone, I know not for how long. Be me when I am needed. Our Divine Father already knows, no doubt.

I tell you only that I have gone looking for demons.

_-S_

_---_

_-IS 704-_

_-_

_My Son-_

I am sorry for the burden I have imposed on you these past weeks.

I need more time.

Do not reply.

_-S_

-

_My Son-_

Again, I must apologize, even aware of how long it has been. I can speak more at length now, but I cannot return to Harmonia, I know not for how long.

The joint vision of which we three no longer speak was not exclusive to us. I have reason to believe that all of those encumbered with True Runes were subject to something, if not the precise intrusion that came about for us three in the Valley. Let it also be known to Our Divine Father that the Demon was rather lenient with us three in comparison to other bearers. Our firmness in our decision is not universal, and those who were not as forthcoming as we about our intentions regarding his proposal have since experienced complications. I am attending to the well-being of one such bearer, you have no doubt guessed to whom. I had thought to abstain from interfering. And then, that night, I fully understood the tantalizing extent of the Demon's order, and the degree to which he had already tempted my dear friend.

I am selfish, and I am acting beyond my station, and perhaps I am even a traitor in some respects; and yet, no. I have done something that I consider best, for my friend, for my country, and indeed for my own well-being, because I know that if I was to lose him I myself would become a dangerous, unstable thing, and not even you, my son, can convince me of the contrary. I defy Our Divine Father now so that I may serve him later.

Please indulge me a little longer.

Do not reply.

_-S_

-

_My Son-_

I will return on the heels of this letter.

I thank you for your patience.

Do not reply.

_-S_

-

_from Commander Futch Schvarzeleber of the Dragon Knights of Goya  
to His Eminence the Bishop Orosi II of the Holy Harmonian Empire, Chief Overseer of Nakula and Governor-in-Absentiam of Razril  
_

I am in your debt.

Despite your father telling me pretty damned strongly that he doesn't want me to elaborate, I think you have the right to know some of what was going on. Besides, you're an intelligent man, you probably know most of it. And I'm just as selfish as your father is—I want you to trust me.

You know what that black-helmeted son of a wolf and a leprous corpse wanted of you. He wanted it of me too, probably more than he wanted it from you guys. Maybe because I'm more unstable, maybe because I don't believe the enemy of my enemy is my friend…but most of all because I wanted it too. I think he stuck around haunting me as long as he did because even when I told him to go away, I was curious. And he could tell, the bastard. I have to admit…I was scared because he was right. That's when we usually get scared and defensive, you know. Because of the truth. Outright lies don't bother people as much as incriminating evidence. I mean, if someone was to spread a rumor that I was terrified out of my wits of the color pink, I'd probably laugh and pretend to be scared just so that your country's army showed up with pink-painted armor and frilly new banners, but if someone said I was afraid of living I'd, well, curl up and die. Which is pretty much what I did.

I was becoming incredibly tired. I couldn't…well, didn't want to…admit to my associates that I was scared, and to be honest a few of them didn't believe me when I actually did tell them about, you know, guys in black armor showing up around corners with the implied intent of taking me out of commission. "But isn't Pesmerga your ally?" they kept asking. "From the wars long ago?" What could I tell them in response to that? "Yeah, but the Archbishop Sasarai is supposed to be my enemy, and now he's the only thing keeping me from flying as high as I can until I run out of air"?

Your father is an angel.

Maybe literally.

I'd already kind of fallen under when he got here. He told me what he saw, but I think that's his place to tell you, not mine, and let me just say that most of it was true. A lot of it only I was seeing, though.

So he woke me up. Figures it was his turn to play the Knight in Shining Armor and charge in, defeat the demon—more about that later—and make sure I got back on my feet. You'll understand if I have difficulty calling myself a princess. I feel more like an old man, actually. But then, the prince is older than I am, as well he should be.

He and I both suspected that this is happening elsewhere. In fact, we're quite certain that it happened a long time ago to someone we both knew. Well, not what the demon was proposing, precisely, but something like it. You'll probably know too when you think about it. In fact, enemy of yours that I am, I'm inclined to believe you knew already and just kept it under wraps for a couple of centuries, but that's just the bitter cynic in me talking. It doesn't matter. Well, it matters, but we can't do anything about it now and aren't sure we should.

Which brings me to defeating the demon. In the end…it wasn't Pes himself that was getting me down, it was, of course, me, and so your father defeating his hold on me wasn't exactly defeating him. We really can't do something like that, shouldn't do something that goddamned stupid. Defeating him means Yuber wins—which is part of why I let him get to me—but Pes winning isn't good either. Your uncle, may the bastard rest in peace, was right about that at least.

So…I guess Goyan Isolationism isn't really dead. I've gotten on the bad sides of both Order and Chaos, but then, you and your father and your sleepy Granddad are on both of their good sides and that can't be much fun either. Although, from what your father has told me of your relationship with Yuber, you're not so much on his good side as out of bounds. Can't say I envy that, but then, you can't really envy my position either.

Thank you for not invading my country while I was out, and thank you for being such a devoted son to your father. If it wasn't for you, well, I couldn't be with him. And I need him, more than you could ever know.

Well, maybe you can know. For all I know you have a story like ours.

-

_Futch-_

Permit me to include a postscript to this letter.

I tried to dissuade him, but he would have none of it.

_-Sasarai_

_Postscript, from his Eminence the Bishop Orosi, etc._

You're welcome. Just don't let it happen again.

We are glad you're well, and pray that you remain so. Selfishly. (Do you have any idea how hard it is to be two people for eight months?)

---


	10. IS 991 to IS 993

* * *

-IS 991-

S-

You're not going to like this.

So this punk kid from Ulster comes knocking down my door. He did the usual recruitment thing, and I had my Third detain him for a bit, but you know these types, they manage to get to the source when they really mean it. He says that he comes from the commander of some underground resistance, which is in Gregminster despite the war being all the way over there in Ulster, and he says his masters want my aid. Drops a few names, people who should be dead, and you know how much I felt like Joshua right then (I think he rose up in my blood, because I sounded like him too), but I think I played the role pretty well. I was all set to send him on some half-relevant fetch quest just to buy time and prove he was serious, but before I could say anything about that the punk kid comes up to me and takes off his left glove. And he says to me, "I'm sorry I killed him."

McDohl's dead, Sasarai.

Kid explained everything. It was and wasn't his fault at the same time, the same way Luc wasn't anyone's fault. And yeah, this kid is Tenkan. They know what they're doing over there. The tablet's nearly full. They're missing me, the kid says. Me, from the old world.

I can't get over this. I haven't even thought about McDohl in decades. Maybe a century or more. He disappeared what, two hundred years ago? Three hundred? It doesn't matter anymore, the number at least. Or that's what I thought. And then it hits, Sasarai, I was there, in front of this throne, trying to convince my idol to lend his aid, our people's aid, to something greater than our isolated world of sick dragons and rotting traditions, and five hundred years later here I am, being recruited.

I'm writing you before I decide. I mean, they want me, but war takes time, and it's been a while, a good long while, long enough for people to stop believing in dragons, let alone hire them. That's the world they want to stop from coming—for all the gadgets on the kid's face, he's got respect for the past, for honor. Says his Tenkai does too.

That's how I bought time, actually. Take me to your leader, I told him. Your real leader, not your Tenkai. Your Silverberg (Chikai, turns out. You probably know which one). Whoever told you that my world exists, and that you had a right to pull me out of it.

He says he will.

If you're not already involved in this, Sasarai, will you be? Why am I asking. Honestly.

See you when I see you.

_-Futch_

---

_-IS 992-_

_Sasarai-_

In case you hadn't heard, I joined up for real. You'll be reading about this in the papers. If you try to invade my country I will kill you, but you knew that already.

Pray for me, your Eminence. Pray for me specifically. There really is no one else left to.

_-Futch_

---

_-IS 993-_

_From His Holiness the Archbishop Sasarai I of the Holy Harmonian Empire, Duke-in-Absentiam of Gaien, Governor-in-Absentiam of Middleport, Viceroy of the Albrens Archipelago, Acting Ambassador to Marlintine, Harmonian Voice of the Coalition of the Free, and Chief Overseer of Caleria _

_To Commander Josiah Altegeschichten of the Dragon Knights of Toran,_

We offer Our congratulations on your ascension to Commander of the Dragon Knights and condolences with regard to the demise of your predecessor. If it is at all possible, We would attend the funeral, and desire knowledge of where and when it is to be held. We appreciate your kindness in receiving this missive, and understand the foreignness of it all; We fully intend to explain Ourself upon Our acquaintance with you.

We pray for your good health and prosperity in this time of sorrow and change, and the well-being of those you hold dear.

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* * *


End file.
